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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEbSYEn,N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4;i03 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The 
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Orij 

beg 

the 

sior 

oth« 

first 

sior 

or  il 


The 
shal 
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whi 

Mai 
diff( 
enti 
beg 
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reqi 
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10X 

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lils 

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difier 

me 

age 


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empreinte. 


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TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »>  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


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method; 


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de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


rata 
> 


elure. 


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32X 


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6 

6 

I 


JANET'S 
LOVE    AND    SERVICE 


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Janet's  Love  and  Service. 


BY 


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MARGARET    M.    ROBERTSON, 

AUXnOK  OF 
'OUniSTIE-,  OR,  THE  WAT  HOME,"   "THE  ORPHAN'S  OP  GLEN  ELDER."  ETC.  ETC., 


V"'' 


W 


ly 


NEW  YORK: 

ANSON  D.    F.    RANDOLPH  &  CO., 

770  Broadv/at,  Cob.  Qth  Street. 

1809. 


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^,,tAW.BENN„r,,,^ 


1SI>01 


"'"^^ity  0,  He,  ivM^  ^ 


II 


5t 


As  the  Author  of  this  book  resides  in  a  British 
Province,  she  cannot  obtain  an  American  Copyright. 
Her  arrangement  zuith  the  Publishers,  however,  secJire 
to  her  the  usual  terms  paid  to  American  Authors,  and 
it  is  her  hope  that  this  announcement  ivill  be  sufficient 
to  secure  to  THEM  the  exclusive  right  of  publication 
in  the  United  States. 

Margaret  Murray  Robertson. 
Sept.  1st,  1869. 


I 


^ 


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/    e"^    ^■'    M       t  —  y  t  ^     y.     ^ 


■a^i  \^  !■'„  , 


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^f  /•  /-  y^.   ^ 


Jaiet's  Loye  and  Service. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  longest  clay  in  all  the  year  was  slowly  closino-  over 
the  little  village  of  Clayton.     There  were  no  loiterers 
now  at  the  corners  of  the  streets  or  on  the  village  square-it 
was  too  late  for  that,  though  da^hght  still  luigorccl.     Now 
and  then  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  footsteps  of  some 
late  home-comer,  and  over  more  than  one  naiTow  close  the 
sound  of  boyish  voices  went  and  came,  from  gaiTct  to  -arret 
telhng  that  the  spiiit  of  slumber  had  not  yet  taken  possession 
of  the  place..     But  these  soon  ceased.     The  wind  moved  the 
tall  laburnums  in  the  lane  without  a  sound,  and  the  mui-mur 
of  runnmg  water  alone  broke  the  stHlness,  as  the  g-ur-lo  of 
the  burn,   and  the  nish  of  the  distant  mill<lam  met  and 
mingled  m  the  aii-  of  the  summer  night. 

In  the  piimitive  village  of  Clayton,"  at  this  midsummer 
tune  gentle  and  simple  were  wont  to  seek  their  rest  by  the 
ight  of  the  long  gloaming.  But  to-night  there  was  hght  in 
he  manse-m  the  minister's  study,  and  in  other  paits  of  the 
house  as  well.  Lights  were  carried  hurriedly  past  uncur- 
tamed  wmdows,  and  flared  at  last  through  the  open  door,  as 
a  woman  s  anxious  face  looked  out. 

"What  can  be  keeping  him?''    she  mumm-ed,  as  she 
shaded  the  flickering  candle  and  peered  out  into  the  gather- 
ing darkness.     "  It 's  no'  like  him  to  linger  at  a  time  li£e  this. 
God  send  he  was  at  home." 
Another  moment  of  eager  listening,  and  then  the  anxious 

7 


8 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


fjxco  was  witlidi-aAvn  and  the  door  closed.  Soon  a  sound 
lu'okc  the  stiUncsH  of  the  village  street  ;  a  horseman  (h'c\»  up 
before  the  minister's  house,  and  the  door  was  again  opened. 

"  Well,  Janet  ?  "  said  the  rider,  throwing  the  reins  on  the 
horse's  neck  and  pausing  as  he  Avcnt  in.  The  woman  curto- 
Bcjcd  with  a  very  relieved  face. 

"  They  '11  be  glad  to  sec  you  up  the  stall's,  sir.  The  minis- 
ter's no'  long  home." 

She  lighted  the  doctor  up  the  stairs,  and  then  turned  brisk- 
ly in  another  direction.  Li  a  minute  she  was  kneeling  before 
the  kitchen  hearth,  and  was  stirring  up  the  buried  embers. 

"  Has  my  father  come,  Janet  ? "  said  a  voice  out  of  the 
darkness, 

"  Yes,  he 's  come.  Ho 's  gone  up  the  stairs.  I  '11  put  on  the 
kettle.  I  dare  say  he  '11  be  none  the  worse  of  a  cup  of  tea  after 
his  ride." 

Sitting  on  the  high  kitchen  dresser,  her  cheek  close  against 
the  darkening  window,  sat  a  young  gu'l,  of  perhaps  twelve  or 
foui'teen  years  of  ago.  She  had  been  reading  by  the  hght 
that  hngered  long  at  that  western  window,  but  the  entrance 
of  Janet's  candle  darkened  that,  and  the  book,  which  at  the 
first  moment  of  surprise  had  di'opped  out  of  her  hand,  she 
now  hastily  put  behind  her  out  of  Janet's  sight.  But  she 
need  not  have  feared  a  rebuke  for  "  bhndin'  herself "  this 
time,  for  Janet  w^as  mtent  on  other  matters,  and  piu'sued  her 
work  in  silence.  Soon  the  blaze  sprung  up,  and  the  dishes 
and  covers  on  the  wall  shone  in  the  firelight.  Then  she 
wont  softly  out  and  closed  the  doo]*  behind  her. 

The  gui  sat  still  on  the  high  dresser,  with  her  head  leaning 
back  on  the  window  ledge,  watching  the  shadows  made  by 
the  firelight,  and  thinking  her  own  pleasant  thoughts  the 
while.  As  the  door  closed,  a  miu'miu"  of  wonder  escaped  her,* 
that  "  Janet  had  'na  sent  her  to  her  bed." 

"  It 's  quite  time  I  dare  say,"  she  added,  in  a  little,  "  and 
I  'm  tired,  too,  with  my  long  walk  to  the  glen.  I  '11  go  when- 
ever papa  comes  down." 

She  hstcncd  for  a  minute.     Then  her  thoughts  went  away 


1 


I 

.1 


JAKET  a   LOVK   AND    SWIVICE. 


9 


to  other  thinfjs — to  licr  father,  who  had  boon  away  all  day  ; 
to  her  mother,  who  was  not  quite  well  tonight,  and  had  ^j^onc 
up  stairs,  contrary  to  her  usual  custom,  before  her  father 
came  home.  Then  she  thouj^h^^  of  other  thin.'.'s — of  the  l)ool£ 
she  had  been  reading,  a  story  of  one  who  ha^.  dai'ed  anddono 
much  in  a  righteous  cause — and  then  she  gi-achially  lost  sight 
of  the  tnlo  and  fell  into  fanciful  musings  about  her  own  future, 
and  to  tlic  building  of  pleasant  castles,  in  which  she  and 
they  whom  she  loved  were  to  dwell.  Sitting  in  the  lirelight, 
with  eyes  and  lii)S  that  smiled,  the  pleasant  fancies  came  and 
went.  Not  a  shadow  crossed  her  brovr.  Not  a  fear  canu;  to 
dim  the  light  by  which  she  gazed  into  the  future  that  she 
planned.  So  she  sat  till  her  th*eam  v,  ts  di-eamed  out,  and 
then,  with  a  sigh,  in  which  there  was  no  (  ^ho  of  care  or  pain, 
she  woke  to  the  pros(!nt,  and  turned  t<>  her  book  again. 

"I  might  see  by  tl'o  tire,"  she  ••id,  and  in  .i  minute  she 
vrnH  seated  on  the  floor,  her  head  leaning  on  her  hands,  and 
her  eye  fastened  on  the  open  page. 

"  Miss  Graeme,"  said  Janet,  softly  coming  in  with  a  child 
in  her  arms,  "  your  mamma  's  no'  weel,  and  here  's  wee  Kosio 
wakened,  and  wautin'  her.  You  '11  need  to  take  her,  i'or  I 
maun  awa'." 

The  book  fell  from  the  girl's  hand,  as  she  started  up  with 
a  frightened  face. 

"  What  ails  mamma,  Janet  ?    Is  she  very  ill  ? " 

"  What  should  ail  her  but  the  one  thing  ?  "  said  Janet,  im- 
patiently.    "  She  '11  be  better  the  mom  I  hae  nae  doubt." 

Graeme  made  no  attempt  to  take  the  child,  who  held  out 
her  hands  toward  her. 

"  I  must  go  to  her,  Janet." 

"Indeed,  Miss  Graeme,  you'll  do  nothing  o'  the  kind. 
IVIrs.  Burns  is  with  her,  and  the  doctor,  and  it 's  little  good 
you  could  do  her  just  now.  Bide  still  where  you  are,  and 
take  care  o'  wee  Rosie,  and  hearken  if  you  hear  ony  o' 
the  ither  baii'ns,  for  none  o'  you  can  see  your  mamma  the 
night." 

Graeme  took  her  Httle  sister  in  her  arms,  and  seated  her- 


10 


JAJSETri    LOVE   AND    SKKVICE. 


self  on  the  floor  a^ain.  Janet  went  out,  and  Graeme  heard 
her  father's  voice  in  the  passage.  She  held  her  breath  to 
listen,  but  h-  did  not  come  in  as  she  hoiked  he  would.  Slio 
heard  tliem  both  go  iip  stairs  again,  and  heedless  of  the 
prattle  of  her  baby  sister,  she  still  listened  eagerly.  Now 
and  then  the  soimd  of  footsteps  overhead  reached  her,  and 
in  a  little  Janet  came  into  the  kitchen  again,  but  she  did  not 
stay  to  be  (questioned.  Then  the  street  door  opened,  and 
some  one  went  out,  and  it  seemed  to  Graeme  a  long  time  be- 
fore she  heard  another  sound.  Then  Janet  came  in  again, 
and  this  time  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  there  was 
any  one  to  see  her,  for  she  was  wiiuging  her  hands,  and  the 
tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  Graeme's  heart  stood 
still,  and  her  white  hps  could  scarcely  utter  a  sound. 
"  Janet !  —  tell  me  !  — my  mother." 

*'  Save  us  lassie  !  I  had  no  mhid  of  joii.  Bide  still.  Miss 
Graeme.  You  muuna  go  there,"  for  Graeme  with  her  little  sis- 
ter in  her  arms  was  hastening  away.  "  Your  mamma 's  no 
waur  than  she  's  been  afore.  It 's  only  me  that  does  na  ken 
about  the  like  o'  you.  The  minister  keeps  up  a  gude  heart. 
Gude  forgie  him  and  a'  manldnd." 

Graeme  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  and  the  baby  fright- 
ened at  Janet's  unwonted  vehemence  sent  up  a  shrill  cry. 
But  Janet  put  them  both  aside,  and  stood  with  her  back 
against  the  door. 

"  No'  ae  step,  Miss  Graeme.  The  auld  fiile  that  I  am  ;  'gin 
the  lassie  had  been  but  in  her  bed.  No,  I'  11  no'  take  the 
bairn,  sit  down  there,  j'ou  '11  be  sent  for  if  j'ou  're  needed.  I  '11 
be  back  agam  soon  ;  and  j'ou  '11  promise  me  that  you  '11  no 
leave  this  till  I  bid  you.  Miss  Graeme,  I  would  'na  deceive 
you,  if  I  was  afi*aid  for  your  manmia.  Promise  me  that  you  '11 
bide  still." 

Graeme  promised,  awed  by  the  earnestness  of  Janet,  and 
by  her  own  vague  terror  as  to  her  mother's  mysterious  sor- 
row, that  could  claim  from  one  usually  so  calm,  sympathy  so 
intense  and  painful.  Then  she  sat  down  again  to  listen  and 
to  wait.     How  long  the  time  seemed !    The  Hds  fell  do^vn 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


11 


over  the  baby's  wakeful  eyes  at  last,  and  Graeme,  gathering 
hor  owTi  frock  over  the  little  hrabs,  and  murmuring  loving 
words  to  her  darling,  hstened  still. 

The  flames  ceased  to  lea^^)  and  glow  on  the  hearth,  the  shad- 
ows no  longer  danced  upon  the  wall,  and  gazing  at  the 
strange  faces  and  forms  that  smiled  and  beckoned  to  her 
from  the  d^dng  embers,  still  she  hstened.  The  red  embers 
faded  into  white,  the  dark  forest  with  its  sunny  glades  and 
long  retreating  vistas,  the  hills,  and  rocks,  and  clouds,  and 
waterfalls,  that  had  risen  among  them  at  the  watcher's  will, 
changed  to  dull  grey  ashes,  and  the  dim  dawn  of  the  3ummer 
morning,  gleamed  in  at  last  upon  the  weary  sleeper.  The 
baby  still  nestled  in  her  aims,  the  golden  hair  of  the  child 
gleaming  among  the  dark  ciu'ls  of  the  elder  sister  as  their 
cheeks  lay  close  together.  Graeme  moaned  and  murmiued  in 
her  sleep,  and  clasped  the  baby  closer,  but  she  did  not  wako 
till  Janet's  voice  aroused  her.  There  were  no  tears  on  her 
face  now,  but  it  was  very  wliito,  and  her  voice  was  low  and 
changed. 

"  JNIiss  Graeme,  you  are  to  go  to  your  mamma  ;  she 's  wantin' 
you-  But  mind  you  are  to  be  quiet,  and  think  o'  your 
father." 

Taking  the  child  m  her  arms,  she  turned  her  back  upon 
the  startled  girl.  Chilled  and  stiff  fi*om  her  uneasy  postui-e, 
Graeme  strove  to  rise,  and  stmnbling,  caught  at  Janet's  arm. 

"  INIamma  is  better  Janet,"  she  asked  eagerly.  Janet  kept 
her  working  face  out  of  sight,  and,  in  a  little,  answered 
hoarsely, 

*•  Ay,  she  '11  soon  be  better,  whatever  becomes  of  the  rest 
of  us.     But,  mind,  you  are  to  be  quiet,  Miss  Graeme." 

Chilled  and  trembhng,  Graeme  crept  up  stairs  and  through 
the  dim  passages  to  her  mother's  room.  The  curtains  had 
been  drawn  back,  and  the  daylight  streamed  into  the  room, 
but  the  forgotten  candles  still  ghmmered  on  the  table.  Tliero 
were  several  people  in  the  room,  standing  sad  and  silent 
around  the  bed.  They  moved  away  as  she  drew  near.  Then 
Graeme  saw  her  mother's  white  face  on  the  pillow,  aud  her 


12 


a>' 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   8EKVICE. 


father  bending  over  her.     Even  in  the  awe  and  dread  that 
smote  on  her  heart  Hke  death,  she  remembered  that  she  must 
be  quiet,  and,  coming  close  to  the  piUow,  she  said  softlv 
"  Mother."  *^' 

The  dying  eyes  came  back  from  their  wandei-ing,  and  fas- 
tened  on  her  darhng's  face,  and  the  white  hps  opened  with  a 
smile. 

"  Graeme-my  own  love-I  am  gomg  away— and  they  wiU 
have  no  one  but  you.     And  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

So  much  to  say  !  With  only  strength  to  ask,  «  God  guide  my 
darhng  ever ! "  and  the  dying  eyes  closed,  and  the  smile  Hn- 
gered  upon  the  pale  lips,  and  in  the  silence  that  came  next 
one  thought  fixed  itself  on  the  heart  of  the  awe-stricken  gii-l' 
never  to  be  e£faced.  Her  father  and  his  motherless  children 
had  none  but  her  to  care  for  them  now. 


at 

at 


a 

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y 
1- 

t, 

1, 

a 


CHAPTER    II. 

TT  'S  a'  ye  ken  !  Gotten  ower  it,  indeed  I "  and  Janet 
1  turned  her  back  on  her  visitor,  and  went  mutter- 
ing about  her  gloomy  kitchen  :  "  The  minister  no'  bemg  ono 
to  Bpeak  his  sorrow  to  the  newsmongmg  folk  that  frequent 
your  house,  they  say  he  has  gotten  ower  it,  do  they  ?  It 's  a* 
they  ken ! " 

"  Janet,  woman,"  said  her  visitor,  "  I  canna  but  think  you 
ai-e  unreasonable  in  your  auger.  I  said  nothing  derogatory 
to  the  mmister  ;  far  be  it  fi'ora  me  !  But  wo  can  a'  see  that 
the  house  needs  a  head,  and  the  bau-ns  need  a  mother.  The 
minister 's  growing  gey  cheerful  like,  and  the  year  is  mair 

than  out  ;  and " 

"Whisht,  woman  Dinna  say  it.  Speak  sense  if  ye 
maun  speak,"  said  Janet,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust  and 
anger. 

"  Wherefore  should  I  no'  say  it  ?  "  demanded  her  visitor. 

"And  as  to  speaking  sense .     But  I  '11  <io'  trouble  you. 

It  seems  you  have  friends  m  such  plenty  that  you  can  afford 
to  scorn  and  scoff  at  them  at  yoiu*  pleasm-e.  Good-day  to 
you,"  and  she  rose  to  go. 

But  Janet  had  already  repented  her  hot  words. 
"  Bide  still,  woman  !     Friends  dinna  fall  out  for  a  single 
ill  word.     And  what  witli  ae  thing  and  anither  I  dinna  weel 
ken  what  I  'm  saying  or  doing  whiles.     Sit  down  :  it 's  you 
that 's  um'easonablo  now." 

This  was  Mistress  Elspat  Smith,  the  wife  of  a  farmer— 
"  no'  that  ill  aff,"  as  ho  cautiously  expressed  it— a  far  more 
important  person  in  the  jiarish  tliau  Janet,  the  minister's 
maid-of-all-work.      It  was  a  condescension  on  her  part  to 

13 


mm 


14 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


como  into  Janet's  kitchen  under  any  circumstances,  she 
thought ;  and  to  be  taken  up  sharply  for  a  friendly  word 
was  not  to  be  borne.  But  they  had  been  friends  all  their 
lives  ;  and  Janet  "  kenned  herscl'  as  gude  a  woman  as  Elspat 
Smith,  vrcel  aff  or  no'  weel  aff ; "  so  with  gentle  violence  she 
pushed  her  back  into  her  chair,  saying : 

"  Hoot,  woman  I  "What  would  folk  say  to  see  you  and  me 
striving  at  tliis  late  diiy  ?     And  I  want  to  consult  you." 

"  But  you  should  speak  sense  yourself,  Janet,"  said  her 
friend. 

"  Folk  maun  speak  as  it 's  given  them  to  speak,"  said 
Janet ;  "  and  wo  '11  say  nae  mail'  about  it.  No'  but  that  the 
bairns  might  be  the  better  to  have  some  one  to  be  over 
them.  She  wouldna  hae  her  sorrow  to  seek,  I  can  tell  you. 
Ko  that  tlioy  're  ill  banns " 

*'  We'll  say  no  more  about  it,  since  that  is  your  will,"  said 
Mrs.  Smith,  with  dignity  ;  and  then,  relenthig,  she  added, 

"  You  have  a  full  handf ii'  with  the  eight  of  them,  I  'm 
sure." 

"  Seven  only,"  said  Janet,  under  her  breath.  "  She  got 
one  of  them  safe  home  with  her,  thank  God.  No'  that 
there 's  one  ower  many,"  added  she  quickly  ;  "  and  they  're 
no'  ill  bairns." 

"You  have  your  ain  troubles  among  them,  I  dare  say, 
and  are  muckleto  be  pitied " 

"  Me  to  be  j^itied !  "  said  Janet  scornfully,  "  there 's  no 
fear  o'  me.  But  what  can  the  like  o'  me  do  ?  For  ye  ken, 
woman,  though  the  minister  is  a  powerful  preacher,  and 
grand  on  points  o'  doctrine,  he  's  a  verra  bami  about  some 
things.  She  aye  keepit  the  siller,  and  far  did  she  make  it 
gang — having  something  to  lay  by  at  the  year's  end  as 
well.  Now,  if  we  make  the  twa  ends  meet,  it 's  man-  than  I 
expect." 

"  But  Miss  Graeme  ought  to  have  some  sense  about  these 
things.     Siu'cly  she  takes  heed  to  the  bairns  ?  " 

"  Miss  Graeme 's  but  a  baini  herself,  with  little  thought 
and  less    experience  ;  and  its  no'  to  bo  supposed  that  tho 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    6EUVICE. 


15 


rest  will  take  hoed  to  licr.  Tlio  little  ancs  are  no'  so  ill  to 
do  with  ;  but  Ihcso  tv,a  laddies  are  just  spiiits  o'  mischief,  for 
as  quiet  as  Norman  loolcs  ;  and  they  come  home  from  the 
school  with  torn  clothes,  till  Miss  Graeme  is  just  dazed  with 
mending  at  them.  ^Vnd  3Iiss  ^Marian  is  near  as  ill  as  the 
laddies  ;  and  poor,  woe  Rosie,  gi-owuig  langer  and  tliinner 
every  day,  till  you  would  thuik  the  wind  would  blow  her 
awa.  Master  ^U'thnr  is  awa  at  his  cddication  :  the  best 
thing  for  a'  concerned.  I  wish  they  were  a'  safe  up  to  man's 
estate,"  and  Janet  sighed. 

"  And  is  ]Miss  Graeme  good  at  her  seam  ?  "  asked  INIistress 
Elspat. 

"  O  ay  ;  she 's  no'  that  iU.  She 's  bettei  at  her  sampler 
and  at  the  flowering  than  at  mending  torn  jackets,  however. 
But  there  's  no  fear  but  she  would  get  skill  at  that,  and  at 
other  things,  if  she  would  but  hao  patience  with  herself. 
Miss  Graeme  is  none  of  the  common  kind." 

"And  has  there  been  no  word  from  her  friends  since? 
They  say  her  brother  has  no  baii'ns  of  his  own.  He  might 
well  do  something  for  her's." 

Janet  shook  her  head. 

"  The  minister  doosna  think  that  I  ken  ;  but  when  IVIr. 
Ross  was  here  at  the  burial,  he  offered  to  take  two  of  the 
bairns,  Norman  or  Hariy,  and  wee  Marian.  She 's  iikest  her 
mamma.  But  such  a  thing  wasna  to  be  thought  of  ;  and  he 
W"ent  awa'  no'  weel  pleased.  "Wliether  he  'U  do  onything  for 
them  in  ony  ithor  way  is  more  than  I  ken.  He  might  keep 
Master  Arthur  at  the  college  and  no'  miss  it.  How  the 
minister  is  ever  to  school  the  rest  o'  them  is  no'  easy  to  be 
seen,  unless  he  should  go  to  America  after  all." 

Mistress  Smith  lifted  her  hands. 

"  He  '11  never  surely  think  o'  taldng  these  motherless  bauTia 
to  yon  savage  place !  "What  could  a  i  him  at  IVlr.  Ross's 
offer  ?  !My  patience !  but  folk  whiles  stand  in  their  ain 
light." 

"  Mr.  Ross  is  not  a  God-fearing  man,"  repHed  Janet,  sol- 
emnly.    "  It 's  no'  what  their  mother  would  have  wished  to 


ir. 


JANKT  s  LOVE  AM.)  ai:iivici:. 


have  her  bairns  broujjlit  up  by  him.  The  minister  kenned 
her  wishes  well  on  that  point,  you  may  bo  sure.  And  be- 
sides, he  could  never  cross  the  sea  and  leave  any  of  them 
behmd." 

"  But  what  need  to  cross  the  sea  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  It 's  a  pity  but  folk  should  ken  when  they  're  Mecl  aff. 
What  could  the  like  o'  hun  do  in  a  country  he  kens  nothmg 
about,  and  with  so  many  bamis  ?  " 

"  It  's  for  the  bairns'  sake  he 's  tliinking  of  it.  They  say 
there  's  fine  land  there  for  the  working,  and  no  such  a  tiling 
as  payin'  rent,  but  every  man  farming  his  own  land,  with 
none  to  say  him  nay.  And  there 's  room  for  all,  and  meat 
and  clothes,  and  to  spare.  I  'm  no'  siu'o  but  it 's  just  the 
best  thuig  the  minister  can  do.  They  had  near  made  up 
their  minds  af(jre,  ve  ken." 

"  Hoot,  woman,  speak  sense,"  entreated  her  friend.  "  Is 
the  minister  to  seU  rusty  knives  and  glass  beads  to  the 
Indians  ?  Tliat  's  what  they  do  in  yon  country,  as  I  've 
read  in  a  book  myself.  AYhatna  like  way  is  that  to  bring 
up  a  family  ?  " 

"  Losh,  woman,  there 's  other  folk  there  beside  red  Indians  ; 
folk  that  duma  sciTiple  to  even  themselves  \nth.  the  best  in 
Britain,  no'  less.  You  should  read  the  newspapers,  woman. 
There  's  one  John  Caldwell  there,  a  fiiond  o'  the  minister's, 
that 's  something  in  a  college,  and  he  's  aye  writing  him  to 
come.  He  says  it 's  a  wonderful  country  for  progress  ;  and 
they  hae  things  there  they  ca'  institutions,  that  he  seems  to 
think  muckle  o',  though  what  tJir;/  may  be  I  couldna  weel 
make  out.  The  minister  read  a  bit  out  o'  a  letter  the  ither 
night  to  Miss  (iraeme  and  me." 

"  Janet,"  said  her  fi-iend,  "  say  the  truth  at  once.  Tho 
minister  is  bent  on  this  fule's  errand,  and  you  're  encourag- 
ing in  it." 

"  Na,  na !  He  needs  na  encoiu'agement  fi*om  the  like  o' 
me.  I  would  gie  muckle,  that  hasna  muckle  to  spare,  gin 
he  were  content  to  bide  where  he  is,  though  it 's  easy  seen 
he  '11  hae  ill  enough  bringing  up  a  family  here,  and  these 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


17 


laddies  iiccdinf?  more  ilka  year  that  goes  o'er  tlieir  heads. 
And  they  say  yon  's  a  grand  country,  and  lino  cddication  to 
be  got  in  it  for  next  to  nothing.  I'm  no  siu'c  Init  tlio 
best  thing  he  can  do  is  to  take  them  there.  I  ken  the  mis- 
tress was  weel  pleased  with  the  thought,"  and  Janet  tried 
with  all  her  might  to  look  hopeful ;  but  her  truth-telling 
countenance  betrayed  her.  Her  fnend  shook  her  head 
gi-avely. 

"  It  might  have  doriC,  with  her  to  guide  them  ;  but  it 's 
very  dLfforrut  now,  as  you  ken  yourself,  far  better  than  I  can 
tell  you.  It  would  bo  little  else  than  a  teniptin'  o'  Provi- 
dence to  exj)osc  these  helpless  bairns,  first  to  the  perils  o 
the  sea,  and  then  to  those  o'  a  strange  country.  Ho  'H 
never  do  it.  He 's  restless  now  and  imsettled  ;  but  when 
time,  that  cures  most  troubles,  goes  by,  he  '11  think  better  of 
it,  and  bide  where  he  is." 

Janet  made  no  veply,  Ijut  in  her  heart  she  took  no  such 
comfort.  She  laiew  it  was  no  leelmg  of  restlessness,  no 
longing  to  be  away  fi'om  the  scene  of  his  sorrow  that  had 
decided  the  minister  to  cmigTate,  and  that  he  had  decided 
she  very  well  knew.  These  might  have  hastened  his  plans, 
she  thought,  but  he  went  for  the  sake  of  liis  children. 
They  might  make  tlieir  own  way  in  the  world,  and  ho 
thought  he  could  better  do  this  in  the  New  World  than  in 
the  Old.  The  decision  of  one  whom  she  had  always  rever- 
enced for  his  goodness  and  wisdom  must  be  right,  r^lie 
thought  ;  yet  she  had  misgivmgs.  many  and  sad,  as  to  the 
futui'c  of  the  childi'en  she  had  come  to  love  so  well.  It  v^'as 
to  have  her  faint  hope  confirmed,  and  her  strong  fears  chased 
away,  that  she  had  spoken  that  afternoon  to  her  friend  ;  and 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  utter  disconsolateness  that  she  turned 
to  her  work  again,  when,  at  last,  she  was  left  alone. 

For  Janet  had  a  deeper  cause  for  care  than  she  had  told,  a 
vague  feeling  tliat  the  worldly  wisdom  of  her  fri(md  could  ]iot 
help  her  here,  keeping  her  silent  aljout  it  to  her.  That  very 
morning,  her  heart  had  leaped  to  her  lips,  when  her  master 
in  his  grave,  brief  v.  .y  had  asked, 


18 


JAN'KT  8    LOVE    AND    SKKVICK. 


"Janet,  ■will  you  go  with  us,  and  help  mo  to  take  care  of 
her  bairns  ?  " 

And  she  had  vowed  to  God,  and  to  him,  that  she  would 
never  leave  them  while  they  needed  the  help  that  a  faithful 
seiTant  could  give.  Bat  the  after  thought  had  come.  She 
had  other  ties,  and  cares,  and  duties,  apart  from  these  that 
clustered  so  closely  round  the  minister  and  his  motherless 
children. 

A  mile  or  two  dovni  the  glen  stood  the  little  cottage  that 
had  for  a  long  time  been  the  home  of  her  widowed  mother, 
and  her  son.  More  than  half  required  for  their  maintenance 
Janet  provided.  Could  she  forsake  them  ?  Could  any  dntj  she 
owed  to  her  master  and  his  children  make  it  right  for  her  to 
forsake  those  whose  blood  liowed  in  her  veins  ?  Tnic,  her 
mother  was  by  no  means  an  aged  v/oman  yet,  and  her  son 
was  a  well-doing  helpfid  lad,  who  would  soon  be  able  to  take 
care  of  himself.  Her  mother  had  another  daughter  too,  but 
Janet  knew  that  her  sister  could  never  supply  her  place  to 
her  mother.  Though  kind  and  well-intentioned,  she  was 
easy  minded,  not  to  say  thriftless,  and  the  mother  of  many 
bairns  besides,  and  there  could  neither  be  room  nor  comfort 
for  her  mother  at  her  fireside,  should  its  shelter  come  to  be 
needed. 

Day  after  day  Janet  wcaiied  herself  going  over  the  matter 
in  her  mind.  "  If  it  were  not  so  far,"  she  thought,  or  "  if  her 
mother  could  go  with  her."  But  this  she  knew,  for  many  rea- 
sons, could  never  be,  even  if  her  mother  could  be  brought  to 
consent  to  such  a  plan.  And  Janet  asked  herself,  "  "What 
would  my  mother  do  if  Sandy  were  to  die  ?  And  what 
would  Sandy  do  if  my  mother  w'ere  to  die  ?  And  what 
would  both  do  if  sickness  were  to  overtake  them,  and  me  far 
away  ?  "  till  she  quite  hated  herself  for  ever  tliinking  of  put- 
ting the  wide  sea  between  them  and  her. 

There  had  been  few  pleasures  scattered  over  Janet's  rough 
path  to  womanhood.  Not  more  than  two  or  three  mornings 
bince  she  could  remember  had  she  risen  to  other  than  a  hfe 
of  labor.     Even  duiing  the  bright  brief  yeai's  of  her  married 


JA^TKT  S    LOVE    AJJD    SERVICK. 


19 


life,  she  had  known  little  respite  from  toil,  for  her  hiisbancl 
had  been  a  poor  man,  and  ho  had  died  suddenly,  boft)ro  her 
son  was  born.  "With  few  words  spoken,  and  few  tears  shed, 
save  what  full  in  secret,  she  had  given  her  infant  to  h(!r  mo- 
ther's care,  and  gone  back  agam  to  a  servant's  place  in  tho 
minister's  household.  There  she  had  been  for  ten  years  tho 
stay  and  right  hand  of  her  beloved  fi'icnd  and  mistress, 
"  working  tho  work  of  two,"  as  they  told  her,  who  would 
have  made  her  discontented  in  her  lot,  with  no  thought  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end,  but  how  she  might  best  do  her 
duty  in  the  situation  in  which  God  had  placed  her. 

But  far  away  into  the  futiu'c — it  might  be  years  and  years 
hence — she  h)oked  to  the  time  Avhen  in  a  house  of  her  own, 
she  might  devote  herself  entirelv  to  tho  comfort  of  her 
mother  and  her  son.  In  this  hope  she  was  content  to  strivo 
and  toil  through  the  best  years  of  her  life,  livmg  poorly  and 
saving  every  penny,  to  all  appearance  equally  indifferent  to 
the  good  word  of  those  who  honored  her  for  her  faithfulness 
and  patient  labcn*,  and  to  the  bad  word  of  those  who  did  not 
scruple  to  call  her  most  striking  characteristics  by  less  honor- 
able names.  She  had  nevei*,  during  all  these  years,  spoken, 
even  to  her  mother,  of  her  plans,  but  their  fulfil  men  t  was  none 
the  less  settled  in  her  own  mmd,  and  none  the  less  dear  to  her 
because  of  that.  Could  she  give  this  up?  Could  she  go 
away  from  her  home,  her  fiiends,  the  land  of  her  bu'th,  and 
be  content  to  see  no  respite  from  her  labor  till  the  end? 
Yes,  she  could.  The  love  that  had  all  these  years  been 
growmg  for  the  childi'en  she  had  tended  with  ahnost  a 
mother's  care,  would  make  the  sacrifice  possible — even  easy 
to  her.  But  her  mother?  How  could  she  find  courage  to 
tell  her  that  she  must  leave  her  alone  in  her  old  age  ?  The 
thought  of  parting  ^'om  her  son,  her  "  bonny  Sandy,"  loved 
with  all  the  deeper  fervor  that  the  love  was  seldom  spoken — 
even  this  gave  her  no  such  pang  as  did  the  thought  of  turn- 
ing her  back  upon  her  mother.  Ho  was  yoimg,  and  had  his 
life  before  him,  and  in  the  many  changes  time  might  bring, 
she  could  ac  least  hope  to  see  liim  ngain.     But  her  mother, 


20 


JANET  S    LOVE   AKD   SEIIVICE. 


already  verging  on  the  tlu'cc-scorc,  she  coiild  never  hope  to 
sec  more,  when  once  the  broad  Atlantic  rolled  between 
them. 

And  so,  no  wonder  if  in  the  misery  of  her  m  decision, 
Janet's  words  grew  fewer  and  shai*pcr  as  the  days  wore  on. 
"With  strange  inconsistency  she  blamed  the  minister  iov  his 
determination  to  go  away,  l)ut  suffered  no  one  else  to  Ijlamo 
lum,  or  indeed  to  hint  that  he  could  do  otherwise  than  what 
was  wisest  and  best  for  all.  It  was  a  sore  subject,  this 
anticipated  departiu'c  of  the  minister,  to  many  a  one  in  Clay- 
ton besides  her,  and  much  was  it  discussed  by  all.  But  it 
was  a  subject  on  which  Janet  would  not  be  approached.  She 
gave  short  answers  to  those  who  offered  their  services  in  the 
way  of  advice.  She  jiresorved  a  scornful  silence  in  the  i)re- 
sence  of  those  who  seemed  to  think  she  could  forsake  her 
master  and  his  childi-en  in  thcii*  time  of  need,  nor  was  she 
better  pleased  with  those  who  thought  her  mother  might  be 
left  for  their  sakcs.  And  so  she  thought,  and  wished,  and 
planned,  and  doubted,  till  she  dazed  herself  ^vitll  her  vain  ef- 
forts to  get  light,  and  could  think  and  plan  no  more. 

"  I  '11  leave  it  to  my  mother  herself  to  decide,"  she  said,  at 
last ;  "  though,  poor  body,  what  can  she  say,  but  that  I  maun 
do  what  I  tliink  is  my  duty,  and  please  myscE  The  Lord 
above  kens  I  hae  Httle  thought  o'  pleasiu'  myseK  in  this 
matter."  And  in  her  perplexity  Janet  was  ready  to  think  her 
case  an  exception  to  the  general  rule,  and  that  contraiy  to  all 
experience  and  observation,  duty  pointed  two  w^ays  at  once. 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE  time  came  when  the  decision  could  no  longer  bo 
delayed.  The  minister  was  away  from  home,  and 
before  his  return  it  would  be  made  known  formally  to  his 
people  tliat  ho  was  to  leave  them,  and  after  that  the  sooner 
his  dcpai-tm-e  took  place  it  would  be  the  better  for  all  con- 
cerned, and  so  Janet  must  brace  herself  for  the  task. 

So  out  of  the  dimness  of  her  spotless  kitchen  she  came 
one  day  into  the  pleasant  light  of  May,  knowing  that  before 
she  entered  it  again,  she  would  have  made  her  mother's  heart 
as  sore  as  her  own.  All  day,  and  for  many  days,  she  had 
been  planning  what  she  should  say  to  her  mother,  for  she  felt 
that  it  must  be  farewell. 

"  If  you  know  not  of  two  ways  which  to  choose,  take  that 
which  is  roughest  and  least  pleasing  to  youi'self,  and  the 
chances  are  it  will  be  the  right  one,"  said  she  to  herself.  "I 
read  that  in  a  book  once,  but  it 's  ill  choosing  when  both  are 
rough,  and  I  know  not  what  to  do." 

Out  into  the  brightness  of  the  Spring  day  she  came,  with 
many  misgivmgs  as  to  how  she  was  to  speed  in  her  errand. 

"  It 's  a  bonny  day,  bairns,"  said  she,  and  her  eye  wandered 
wistfully  down  the  village  street,  and  over  the  gi-een  fields,  co 
the  hills  that  rose  dimly  in  the  distance.  The  mild  aii-  softly 
fanned  her  cheek,  pleasant  sights  were  round  her  evciywhere, 
and  at  the  garden  gate  she  lingered,  vaguely  striving  under 
their  influence  to  cast  her  burden  from  her. 

"I  munhae  it  owcr,"  she  muttered  to  herself  as  she  went 
on.  In  each  hand  she  hold  firmly  the  hand  of  a  child. 
Mai'ian  and  little  Will  were  to  go  with  her  for  safe  keepin"- ; 

(21) 


22 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


tho  lads  were  at  tlio  Kcliool,  and  in  iior  ab<-;cnco  Graeme-  was 
to  keep  iho  house,  and  take  care  of  little  Hose. 

"  Ob,  Janet ! "  she  exclaimed,  an  she  went  down  tlic  lane  a 
bit  with  them  ;  "  I  wish  I  Avcre  goinj,'  with  you,  it 's  such,  ti 
bonny  day." 

But  Janet  knew  that  what  she  had  to  say,  would  bo  better 
said  without  her  presence,  so  she  shook  her  head. 

"  You  know  INIiss  Graeme,  my  dear,  you  mun  keep  the 
house,  and  we  would  weary  cairying  wee  llosie,  and  she  could 
never  go  half  tho  distance  on  her  feet  ;  and  mind,  if  onj' 
loddioa  call,  the  short  broad  is  in  the  ben  press,  and  gin  they 
begin  with  (piestions,  let  your  answers  bo  short  and  ceevil, 
like  a  gudc  baini,  and  take  gude  care  o'  my  bonny  wee  lily," 
added  she,  kissing  tho  palo  little  girl  as  she  set  her  down. 
*'  But  I  needna  tell  you  that,  and  wo  '11  soon  bo  back  again." 

The  children  chattered  merrily  all  tho  way,  and  busy  with 
her  own  thoughts,  Janet  afiswered  them  without  know^ing 
what  she  said.  Down  tho  lano,  and  over  the  bum,  tlu'ough 
green  fields,  till  tho  burn  crossed  theii'  path  again  they 
w^ent,  "  tho  near  way,"  and  soon  tho  solitary  cottage  in  the 
glen  was  in  sight.  It  was  a  very  humble  homo,  but  very 
pleasant  in  its  lonehness,  Janet  thought,  as  her  oyo  fell  on  it. 
Tho  cat  sat  sunning  herself  on  the  step,  and  through  tho 
open  door  came  the  hum  of  the  mother's  busy  wheel.  Draw- 
ing a  long  breath,  Janet  entered. 

"  Wool,  mother,"  said  she. 

"  Wool,  Janet,  is  this  you,  and  the  baii'ns  ?  I  doubt  you 
hadna  weel  loavin'  hamo  the  day,"  said  her  mother. 

"  I  had  to  come,  and  this  day 's  as  good  as  another.  It  *s 
a  bonny  day,  mother." 

"  Ay,  its  a  bonny  day,  and  a  seasonable,  thank  God.  Conio 
in  by  bauns,  I  sent  Sandy  over  to  Fernie  a  while  s;yiie. 
It 's  near  time  he  wore  hamo  again.  I  '11  give  you  a  r)iece,  and 
you  '11  go  down  tho  glen  to  meet  Imn,"  and,  well  x)ieased,  away 
they  went. 

"  I  daro  say  you  '11  bo  none  tho  waur  of  your  tea,  Janet, 
woman,"  said  her  mother,  and  she  put  aside  her  wheel,  and 


f 


•TANKT  S    I.OVK    AM)    SKRVICi:. 


23 


ontorcd  with  jn^cjit  zeal  into  her  preparations.  Janet  strove 
to  liavo  patience  with  her  harden  a  little  longer,  and  sat  still 
liwteniiig  to  her  mother's  talk,  askinjjf  and  answerm^'  (jues- 
tious  on  indiJYerent  suhjeets.  There  was  no  pause.  Janet 
had  seldom  seen  her  mother  so  eheerfiil,  and  in  a  little  she 
fomid  herself  wondering  whether  she  had  not  been  exaggerat- 
ing to  herself  her  mother's  need  of  her. 

"  The  thought  ought  to  give  me  pleasure,"  she  reasoned, 
but  it  did  not,  and  she  aceused  herself  of  perversity,  in  not 
being  able  to  rejoice,  thtit  her  moth(;r  could  easily  spare  her 
to  the  duties  she  believed  claimed  her.  lu  the  earnestness 
of  her  thoughts,  she  gi'cw  silent  at  last,  or  answered  her  mother 
at  random.  Had  she  been  less  occupied,  she  might  have  per- 
ceived that  her  mother  was  not  so  cheerful  as  she  seemed,  for 
many  a  look  of  wistful  earnestness  was  fastened  on  her 
dang] iter's  face,  and  now  and  then  a  sigh  escaped  her. 

Th  '  were  very  much  alike  in  appearances,  the  mother  and 
daughter.  The  mother  "  had  been  "bonnier  in  her  youth,  than 
ever  Janet  had,"  she  used  to  say  herself,  and  looking  at  hev 
still  ruddy  cheeks,  and  clear  grey  eyes,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
believe  it.  She  was  fresh-looking  yet,  at  sixty,  and  though 
the  hair  drawn  back  under  her  cap  was  silvery  white,  her 
teeth  for  strength  and  beauty,  might  have  been  the  envy  of 
many  a  woman  of  half  her  years.  She  was  smaller  than 
Janet,  and  her  whole  api)earancc  indicated  iho  possession  of 
more  activity  and  less  strength  of  body  and  mind  than  her 
daughter  had,  but  the  resemblance  between  them  was  still 
strildng.  She  had  seen  many  trials,  as  who  that  has  lived 
for  sixty  years,  has  not  ?  but  she  had  borne  them  better  than 
most,  and  was  cheerful  and  hopeful  still.  When  they  weio 
fairly  seated,  with  the  little  table  between  them,  she  startlc'd 
Janet,  by  coming  to  the  point  at  once. 

"  ^\nd  so  they  say  the  minister  is  for  awa'  to  America  after 
all.     Is  that  true?" 

"  Oh,  ay !  it  is  true,  as  ill  news  oftenest  is,"  said  Janet,  grave- 
ly. "  He  spoke  to  nio  about  it  before  he  went  away.  It  'a 
all  settled,  or  will  be  before  ho  comes  hame  the  mora." 


24 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


m 


"  Ay,  as  5'ou  say,  it 's  ill  news  to  tbem  that  he 's  leaving. 
But  I  hope  it  may  be  for  the  good  o'  his  young  family. 
There 's  many  a  one  going  that  road  now." 

"  Ay,  there 's  more  going  than  will  better  tliemselves  by  the 
change,  I  doubt.  It 's  no  like  that  all  the  line  tales  we  hear 
o'  yon  countr}'  can  bo  true." 

"  As  you  say.  But,  it 's  like  the  mhiistcr  has  some  other 
dependence,  than  what 's  ca'ed  about  the  country  for  news. 
What 's  this  I  hear  about  a  friend  o'  his  that 's  done  weel 
there  ?" 

Janet  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"  Wha  should  ho  bo,  but  some  silly,  book-leanied  body, 
that  bides  in  a  college  there  awa'.  I  dare  say  he  would  be  weel 
pleased  in  any  countiy,  where  ho  could  get  plenty  o'  books, 
and  a  house  to  hold  tliem  in.  But  what  can  the  hke  o'  him 
ken  o'  a  young  family  and  what 's  needed  for  them.  K  he 
had  but  held  his  peace,  and  let  the  minister  bide  where  he  is, 
it  would  hae  been  a  blessing,  I  'm  sure." 

Janet  suddeidy  paused  in  confusion,  to  find  herself  argu- 
ing on  the  wrong  side  of  the  question.  Her  mother  said 
notliing,  afid  in  a  minute  she  added, 

"  There 's  one  tiling  to  bo  said  for  it,  the  mistress  aye 
thought  weel  o'  the  plan.  Oh !  if  she  had  been  but  spared 
to  them,"  and  she  sighed  heavily. 

"  You  may  weel  say  that,"  said  her  mother,  echoing  her 
sigh.  *'  But  I  'm  no  sui'e  but  they  would  miss  her  care  as 
nmcli  to  bide  here,  as  to  go  there.  And  Janet,  woman,  there 's 
aye  a  kind  Providence.  Ho  tliat  said,  '  Leave  thy  fatherless 
children  to  me,'  wiiina  forsake  the  motherless.  There 's  no 
fear  but  they  '11  be  brought  through." 

"  I  hae  been  saying  that  to  myself  ilka  hour  of  the  day, 
and  I  believe  it  siu'clj'.  But  oh,  mother,"  Janet's  voice  failed 
her.     She  could  say  no  more. 

"  I  ken  weel,  Janet,"  continued  her  mother,  gi'avely,  "  it 
vnll  be  a  gi'eat  charge  and  rcsponsibihty  to  you,  and  I  dare 
say  whiles  you  ai'e  ready  to  run  away  from  it.  But  3'ou  '11  do 
better  for  them  than  any  linng  woman  could  do.     The  love 


jaxet's  love  and  service. 


25 


e's  leaving, 
ung  family. 

3lves  by  the 
les  we  hear 


some  other 

r  for  newa 

done  weel 


lied  body, 
lid  be  weel 
r  o'  books, 
ike  o'  him 
m.  If  he 
lere  he  is, 

?clf  argu- 
ther  said 

I'oss  aye 
sj^ared 

>ii'g  her 

care  as 

there 's 

;horIess 

're 's  no 

le  day, 
e  failed 

py,  "it 
I  dare 
I  'U  do 
lovo 


f 


you  bear  them,  will  give  you  -SN-isdom  to  guide  them,  and 
when  strength  is  needed,  there 's  no  fear  but  you  '11  get  it 
The  back  is  aye  fitted  for  the  burden.  Let  them  gang  or  let 
them  bide,  you  canna  leave  them  now." 

She  tm*ncd  her  face  away  from  her  mother,  and  for  her  life 
Janet  could  not  have  told  whether  the  tears  that  were  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks,  were  falling  for  joy  or  for  sorrow. 
There  was  to  be  no  struggle  between  her  and  her  mother. 
That  was  well  ;  but  with  the  feeling  of  rehef  the  knowledge 
brought,  there  came  a  pang  —  a  foretaste  of  the  homesick- 
ness, which  comes  once,  at  least,  to  eveiy  wanderer  from  his 
country.  By  a  strong  effort  she  controlled  herself,  and 
found  voice  to  say, 

"  I  shall  never  leave  them  while  they  need  me.  I  could 
be  content  to  toil  for  them  always.  Bat,  ah !  mother,  the 
going  awa'  over  the  sea  " 

Her  voice  failed  her  for  a  minute,  then  she  added, 

"  I  hae  wakened  every  momin'  with  this  verse  of  Jeremiah 
on  my  mind :  '  "Weep  ye  not  for  the  dead,  neither  bemoan 
him,  but  weep  sore  for  him  that  goeth  away,  for  he  shall  rc- 
tmni  no  more  nor  see  his  native  country'.'  "  Janet  made  no 
secret  of  her  tears  now. 

"Hoot  fie,  Janet,  woman,"  said  her  mother,  affecting  angor 
to  hide  far  other  feehngs.  "  You  are  misapplyin'  Scripture 
altogether.  That  was  spoken  o'  them  that  were  to  bo  carried 
away  captive  for  their  sins,  and  no'  o'  honest  folk,  follo^^  In' 
the  leadings  o'  Providence.  If  there  's  ony  application  it  'n 
to  me,  I  'lii  thinkui'.  It 's  them  that  bide  at  hame  that  are 
bidden  weep  sore  ;"  and  she  seemed  much  inclmcd  to  follow 
the  injunction.  She  recovered  in  a  minute,  however,  and 
added, 

"  ]  >ut  I  'm  no'  going  to  add  to  your  trouble.  You  chnna 
need  me  to  tell  you  I'll  have  httle  left  when  you're  awa.' 
But,  if  it 's  your  duty  to  go  with  them,  it  canna  be  your  duty 
to  bide  with  me.  You  winna  lose  your  reward  striving  in 
behalf  o'  these  motherless  bairns,  and  the  Lord  will  hae  mo 
and  Sandy  in  his  keeping,  I  diima  doubt." 
2 


2G 


JANET  S    LOVK   AND   SERVICE. 


There  was  a  long  silence  after  tliis.  Each  luiew  whiit  tho 
other  suffered.  Xhere  was  uo  need  to  speak  of  it,  and  so 
they  sat  without  a  word  ;  Janet,  with  the  <juiet  tears  falling 
now  and  then  over  her  cheeks  ;  her  mother,  gi-avo  and  lii-ni, 
giving-  no  outwai'd  sign  of  emotion.  Each  shrunk,  for  the 
other's  sake,  from  putting  their  fears  for  the  futiu'e  into 
words  ;  but  their  thoughts  were  busy.  Tlie  mother's  heart 
aclied  for  tho  great  wrench  that  must  sever  Janet  from  her 
child  and  her  home,  and  Janet's  heart  grew  sick  with  the 
dread  of  long  weary  days  and  nights  her  mother  might  have 
to  pass,  with  perhaps  no  daughter's  hand  to  close  her  eyes 
at  last,  till  the  thoughts  of  both  changed  to  supplication, 
fervent  though  unuttered  ;  and  the  bui'dcn  of  the  ^jraj-cr  of 
each  was,  that  the  other  might  have  strength  and  pojice. 

The  mother  spoke  first.     "  AMicn  will  it  be  ?  " 

"It  canna  be  long  now.  The  sooner  the  better  when  onco 
it's  really  settled.  There  are  folk  in  the  parish  no  weel 
pleased  at  the  minister  for  thinking  to  go." 

"  It 's  for  none  to  say  wliat  's  light,  and  what 's  wrang,  in 
the  matter,"  said  the  mother,  gravely.  "  I  liae  nac  doubt 
the  Lord  will  go  with  liim ;  but  it  wiU  be  a  di'ear  day  for 
plenty  besides  me." 

"  He  's  bent  on  it.  Go  he  will,  and  I  tnist  it  may  be  for 
the  best,"  Init  Janet  sighed  drearily. 

"  And  how  are  the  bairns  pleased  with  tho  prospect  ?  " 
asked  her  mother. 

"  Ah. !  they  're  weel  pleased,  bairn-like,  at  any  thought  o' 
a  change.  ]\Tiss  Graeme  has  her  doubts,  I  whiles  thuik,  but 
that  shouldna  count ;  there  are  few  things  that  look  joyful 
to  her  at  the  present  time.  She  's  ower  like  her  father  with 
her  ups  and  downs.  She  liasna  her  mother's  cheerful 
spirit." 

"  Her  mother's  death  was  an  awfu'  loss  to  Miss  Graeme, 
poor  thing,"  said  th'^  mother. 

"Aye,  that  it  was — her  that  had  never  keut  a  trouble  but 
by  readin'  o'  them  in  printed  books.  It  was  an  awfu'  wtrkc  n- 
ing  to  her.     She  has  never  been  the  same  siuco,  and  I  doubt 


4 

i 


^ 


JANKT  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


27 


wlitit  tlio 

t,  and  so 

irs  falling 

and  lu'in, 

k,  for  the 

tnro  into 

er's  heart 

from  her 

with  the 

light  have 

her  eyes 

)plication, 

prayer  of 

»cacc. 

vhcu  once 
I  no  wcel 

wrang,  in 
lac  doubt 
,r  day  for 

lay  be  for 

:ospcct  ?  " 

bought  o' 
hink,  but 
ok  joyfid 
thcr  with 
cheerful. 

Graenio, 

ouble  1)ut 
'u'  waki^n- 
d  I  doubt 


f 


,* 


it  will  be  long  till  she  has  the  same  light  heart  again.  She 
tries  to  till  her  mother's  place  to  them  lUl,  and  when  she 
finds  she  canna  do  it,  she  loses  heart  and  i)atienco  with  her- 
self. But  I  hac  great  hope  o'  her.  She  has  the  '  single  eye,' 
and  (lod  will  j^iiidc  her.     I  hae  nae  fear  for  Miss  Graeme." 

And  Ihen  they  spoke  of  mi,ny  tilings — settHng  then-  little 
matters  of  bushiess,  and  arranging  their  plans  as  quietly  as 
though  they  looked  forward  to  doing  the  same  thing  eveiy 
month  during  the  futm'o  years  as  they  had  done  dm-ing  the 
past.  Nothing  was  forgotten  or  omitted ;  for  Janet  well 
knew  that  all  her  time  and  strength  would  be  needed  for  the 
preparations  tliat  must  soon  commeneo,  and  that  no  tune  so 
good  as  the  present  might  be  foimd  for  her  own  personal 
aiTangements.  Iler  little  savings  were  to  be  lodged  in  safe 
hands  for  her  mother's  use,  and  if  anything  were  to  happc-n 
her  they  were  to  be  tak(>n  to  send  Sandy  over  the  sea.  It 
was  all  done  very  quietly  and  calmly.  I  wiU  not  say  that 
Janet's  voice  (hd  not  falter  sometuiies,  or  that  no  mist  came 
between  the  mother's  eyes  and  the  grave  face  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  But  there  was  no  sign  given.  A  strong 
sense  of  duty  sustained  them.  A  fmn  belief  that  however 
jiainful  the  futiu'e  might  be,  they  were  doing  right  in  this 
matter,  gave  them  power  to  look  calmly  at  the  sacrifice  that 
must  cost  them  so  much. 

At  length  the  childi-en's  voices  were  heard,  and  at  the 
somid,  Janet's  heart  leaped  up  with  a  throb  of  pain,  but  in 
words  she  gave  no  utterance  to  the  pang. 

"AVeel,  Sandy,  lad,  is  this  you,"  said  she,  as  with  mingled 
shyness  and  pleasure  the  boy  came  forward  at  his  grand- 
mother's bidduig.  He  was  a  well-grown  and  healthy  lad, 
with  a  frank  face,  and  a  thick  shock  of  hght  curls.  There 
was  a  happy  look  in  his  large  blue  eyes,  and  the  smile  came 
very  natm-ally  to  his  ratlu>r  large  mouth.  To  his  mother,  at 
the  moment,  he  seemed  altogether  beautiful,  and  her  heart 
cried  out  agauist  the  ^Teat  trial  that  was  before  her.  Sandy 
stood  with  his  hand  in  her's,  while  his  grandmother  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  crnyid  on  which  he  had  been  sent,  and 


28 


JANET'S    LOVE   AND   SEUVICE. 


she  had  time  to  quiet  herself.  But  there  was  a  look  on  her 
face  as  she  sat  there,  gently  stroking  his  fair  hair  with  her 
hand,  that  was  sad  to  see.  Marian  saw  it  with  momentary 
wonder,  and  then  coming  up  to  her,  she  laid  her  arm  gently 
over  her  neck  and  whispered, 

"  Sandy  is  going  with  us  too,  Janet  Th  ore  will  be  plenty 
of  room  for  us  aU." 

"  I  've  been  telUng  Menie  that  I  canua  leave  grannie,"  said 
Sandy,  turning  gravely  to  his  mother.  "  You  '11  hae  Norman 
and  Harry,  and  them  a',  but  grannie  has  none  but  me." 

"  And  wouldna  you  like  to  go  with  us  too,  Sandy,  man  ?  " 
asked  his  mother,  with  a  pang. 

"  To  yon  fine  countiy  John  Ferguson  tells  us  about  ?  "  said 
Sandy,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  That  I  would,  but  it  wouldna 
be  right  to  leave  gi'annie,  and  she  says  she 's  ower  old  to  go 
so  far  away — and  over  the  great  sea  too." 

"  Nae,  my  lad,  it  wouldna  be  right  to  leave  grani..ie  by 
herself,  and  you  'U  need  to  bide  here.  Think  aye  first  of 
what  is  right,  and  there  will  be  no  fear  of  you." 

"  And  are  you  goin'  mother  ?  "  asked  Sandy,  gravely. 

"  I  doubt  I  'U  need  to  go,  Sandy  lad,  with  the  bairns.  But 
I  think  less  of  it,  that  I  can  leave  you  to  be  a  comfori  to 
grannie.  I  'm  sure  I  needna  bid  you  be  a  good  and  obedient 
laddie  to  her,  when " 

It  needed  a  strong  effort  on  her  part  to  restrain  the  bitter 
cry  of  her  heari 

"  And  will  you  never  come  back  again,  mother  ?  " 

"  I  duma  ken,  Sand3%  Maybe  no.  But  that 's  no'  for  us 
to  consider.  It  is  present  duty  we  maun  think  o'.  The  rest 
is  in  the  Lord's  hands." 

What  else  could  be  said  ?  Tliat  was  the  sum.  It  was  duty, 
and  the  Lord  would  take  care  of  the  rest.  And  so  they 
parted  with  outward  calm  ;  and  her  mother  never  knew  that 
that  night,  Janet,  sending  the  cliildren  home  before  her,  sat 
down  in  the  lane,  and  "  gi*at  as  if  she  would  nevei  greet 
mair."  And  Janet  never  knew,  till  long  years  afterwards, 
how  that  night,  and  many  a  night,  Sandy  woke  from  the 


)ok  on  her 
r  with  her 
Qomentary 
irm  gently 

be  plenty 

inie,"  said 
e  Norman 
me." 
y,  man  ?  " 


JANEl'8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


29 


sound  sleep  of  childhood  to  find  his  grandmother  praying 
and  weeping,  to  think  of  the  parting  that  was  di-awing  near. 
Each  could  be  strong  to  help  the  other,  but  alone,  in  sflence 
and  darkness,  the  poor  shrinking  heai-t  had  no  power  to 
cheat  itself  into  the  behef  that  bitter  suflfering  did  not  he 
before  it. 


ut?"said 
b  wouldna 
old  to  go 

•ani.ie  by 
e  first  of 

ely. 

ms.    But 

)mfort  to 

obedient 

;he  bitter 


lo'  for  us 
The  rest 


ras  duty, 
so  they 
new  that 
her,  sat 
ei'  greet 
crwards, 
rom  the 


r. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

was  worsliip  time,  and  the  bairns  had  gathered  round 
the  table  with  theii*  books,  to  wait  for  their  father's  com- 
ing. It  was  a  fair  sight  to  see,  but  it  was  a  sad  one  too,  for 
they  were  motherless.  It  was  aU  the  more  sad,  that  the  bright 
faces  and  gay  voices  told  how  httlo  they  realized*  the  great- 
ness of  the  loss  they  had  sustained.  They  were  more  gay 
than  usual,  for  the  elder  brother  had  come  home  for  the  sum- 
mer, perhaps  for  always  ;  for  the  question  was  being  eagerly 
discussed  whether  ho  would  go  back  to  the  college  again,  or 
whether  he  was  to  go  with  the  rest  to  America. 

Arthm',  a  quiet,  handsome  lad  of  sixteen,  said  httle.  He 
was  sitting  mth  the  sleejiy  Will  upon  his  knee,  and  only  put 
in  a  word  now  iind  then,  when  the  others  grew  too  loud  and 
eager.  He  could  have  set  them  at  rest  about  it,  for  ho  knew 
that  liis  father  had  decided  to  leave  him  in  Scotland  till  his 
studies  were  finished  at  the  college. 

•'  But  there  's  no  use  to  vex  the  lads  and  Graeme  to-night," 
he  said  to  himself ;  and  he  was  right,  as  ho  had  not  quite 
made  up  his  mind  whether  he  was  vexed  himself  or  not.  The 
thought  of  the  great  countries  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe, 
and  of  the  possible  adventiu'es  that  might  await  them  there, 
had  charms  for  him,  as  for  every  one  of  his  age  and  spirit. 
But  he  was  a  sensible  lad,  and  realized  in  some  measure  the 
advantage  of  such  an  education  as  could  only  be  secui'cd  by 
remaining  behind,  and  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  there  was 
reason  in  what  his  father  had  said  to  him  of  the  danger  there 
was  that  the  voyage  and  the  new  scenes  in  a  strange  land 
might  unsettle  his  mind  from  his  books.  It  cost  him  some- 
thing to  seem  content,  even  while  his  father  was  speaking  to 
(30) 


JAXET  S    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


31 


icred  round 
itlicr's  corn- 
one  too,  for 
t  the  bright 
lT  the  grcat- 
•e  more  gay 
or  the  suiu- 
ing  eagerly 
;'c  again,  or 

Httle.  He 
id  only  put 
>o  loud  and 
or  he  knew 
and  till  his 

to-night," 

not  quite 

not.    The 

the  globe, 

lom  there, 

ind  spirit. 

casure  the 

eciu'ed  by 

there  was 

nger  there 

•ange  land 

hiiB  some- 

)eaking  to 


huu,  and  he  knew  well  it  would  grieve  the  rest  to  know  ho 
was  to  bo  left  liehiud,  so  he  would  say  nothiiig  about  it,  on 
tliis  fii'st  night  of  his  houiecommg. 

Tlicrc  was  one  sad  face  among  them  ;  for  even  ^Vi'thur's 
honu'coming  could  not  quite  chase  the  shadow  tliat  had  fallen 
on  Graeme  since  the  night  a  j'ear  ago  while  she  sat  dreaming 
her  dreams  in  the  firehght.  It  was  only  a  year  or  little  more, 
but  it  might  have  been  three,  judging  fi*om  the  change  in 
her.  She  was  taUer  and  paler,  and  older-looldng  since  then. 
And  yet  it  was  not  so  much  that  as  something  else  that  so 
changed  her,  Ai'thnr  thought,  as  he  sat  watching  her.  The 
cliangc  had  come  to  her  tlu'ough  their  gi-eat  loss,  he  knew  ; 
but  he  could  not  have  understood,  even  if  it  had  been  told 
him,  how  much  tliis  had  changed  hfe  to  Graeme.  He  had 
suffered  too  more  than  v.'ords  could  evei*  tell.  Many  a  time 
his  heart  had  been  ready  to  ljm\st  with  unspeakable  longing 
for  his  dead  mother's  loving  presence,  her  voice,  her  smile, 
her  gentle  chiding,  till  he  could  only  cast  himself  do^vn  and 
weep  vain  tears  upon  the  ground. 

Graeme  had  borne  all  this,  and  what  was  worse  to  her,  the 
homly  missing  of  her  mother's  counsel  and  care.  Not  one 
day  of  all  the  yeiu'  but  she  had  been  made  to  feel  the  bitter- 
ness of  their  loss  ;  not  one  day  but  she  had  striven  to  fill 
her  mother's  place  to  her  father  and  them  all,  and  her  nightly 
heartbreak  had  been  to  know  that  she  had  striven  m  vain. 
'  As  how  could  it  be  otherwise  than  vain,"  she  said  often  to 
herself,  "  so  weak,  so  foolish,  so  hnpatient."  And  yet  through 
aU  her  weakness  and  hnpatience,  she  knew  that  she  nuist 
never  cease  to  try  to  fill  her  mother's  place  stiU. 

Some  thought  of  all  this  came  into  Arthur's  mind,  as  she  sat 
there  leaning  her  head  on  one  hand,  while  the  other  touched 
from  time  to  time  the  cradle  at  her  side.  Never  before  had 
he  reahzed  how  sad  it  was  for  them  all  that  they  had  lost 
their  mother,  and  how  dreary  hfe  at  home  nmst  have  been 
all  the  year.    . 

"Poor  Graeme!  and  poor  wee  Rosie!"  ho  says  to  himself, 
stoopmg  over  the  cradle. 


I'l 


32 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


"  How  olfl  is  Rosio  ?"  asked  be,  suddenly. 

"Near  tlirce  years  old,"  said  Janet. 

"  She  winna  be  tliree  till  August,"  said  Graeme  in  the  same 
breath,  and  she  turned  beseecliing  ejes  on  Janet.  For  this 
was  becoming  a  vexed  question  between  them — the  guiding 
of  poor  wee  Rosie.  Janet  was  a  disciplinarian,  and  ever 
declared  that  Rosie  '*  should  go  to  her  bed  Hke  ither  folk ;" 
but  Graeme  could  never  find  it  in  her  heart  to  vex  her  dar- 
ling, and  so  the  cradle  still  stood  in  the  down-stau's  parlor 
for  Rosie's  benefit,  and  it  was  the  elder  sister's  nightly 
task  to  soothe  the  fretful  Uttle  lady  to  her  unwilling  slum- 
bers. 

But  Graeme  had  no  need  to  fear  discussion  to-night.  Ja- 
net's mind  was  full  of  other  thoughts.  One  caimot  shed 
oceans  of  tears  and  leave  no  sign  ;  and  Janet,  by  no  means 
sure  of  herself,  sat  with  her  face  turned  from  the  light,  in- 
tently gazmg  on  the  very  small  piint  of  the  Bible  in  her  hand. 
On  common  occasions  the  bairns  would  not  have  let  Janet's 
silence  pass  unheeded,  but  to-night  they  were  busy  discuss- 
ing matters  of  importance,  and  except  to  say  now  and  then, 
"  Whist,  bairns !  your  father  wiU  be  here !"  she  sat  without 
a  word. 

There  was  a  hush  at  last,  as  a  step  was  heard  descending 
the  stairs,  and  in  a  minute  theu*  father  entered.  It  was  not 
fear  that  quieted  them.  Tliere  was  no  fear  in  the  fi'ank, 
eager  eyes  turned  toward  him,  as  he  sat  down  among  them. 
His  was  a  face  to  win  confidence  and  respect,  even  at  the  first 
glance,  so  grave  and  earnest  was  it,  yet  witlial  so  gentle  and 
mild.  In  his  childi'en's  hearts  the  sight  of  it  sturcd  deep 
love,  which  grew  to  reverence  as  they  grew  in  years.  The 
calm  that  sat  on  that  high,  broad  brow,  told  of  conflicts  passed, 
and  victory  secure,  of  weary  wandermg  through  desert  places, 
over  now  and  scarce  remembered  in  the  quiet  of  the  resting- 
place  he  had  found.  His  words  and  deeds,  and  his  chas- 
tened views  of  earthly  things  told  of  a  deep  experience  in 
"  that  life  wliich  is  the  heritage  of  the  few — ^that  tnie  hfe  of 


I 


JANET  B   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


33 


1  the  same 
For  this 
le  guiding 
and  ever 
;her  folk ;" 
X  her  dar- 
lu's  parlor 
's  nightly 
ling  slum- 
light.  Ja- 
tuiot  shed 
no  means 
e  light,  in- 
her  hand, 
let  Janet's 
ij  discuss- 
and  then, 
,t  without 

escending 

t  was  not 

ne  fi-ank, 

yng  thom. 

;  the  first 

entle  and 

rrcd  deep 

irs.     The 

s  passed, 

rt  places, 

e  resting- 

his  chas- 

jrience  in 

ne  hfe  of 


I 


lit 

ft 


God  in  the  soul  with  its  strange,  rich  secrets,  both  of  joy 
and  sadness,"  whose  peace  the  world  knowoth  not  of,  wliich 
naught  beneath  the  smi  can  ever  more  disturb. 

"  The  minister  is  changed — greatly  changed."  Janet  had 
said  many  times  to  herself  and  others  during  the  last  few 
months,  and  she  said  it  now,  as  her  eye  with  the  others 
turned  on  him  as  he  entered.  But  with  the  thought  there 
came  to-night  the  consciousness  that  the  change  was  not  such 
a  one  as  was  to  be  deplored.  He  had  gi'own  older  and 
gi'aver,  and  more  silent  than  he  used  to  be,  but  he  had  grown 
to  something  higher,  pui'er,  hoher  than  of  old,  and  hke  a  sud- 
den gleam  of  Ught  breaking  through  tlie  darkness,  there 
flashed  into  Janet's  mind  the  promise,  "All  things  shall 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God."  Her  hps 
had  often  spoken  the  words  before,  but  now  her  eyes  saw  the 
fulfilhnent,  and  her  faihng  faith  was  strengthened.  If  that 
bitter  trial,  beyond  which  she  had  vainly  striven  to  see  aught 
but  evil,  had  indeed  WTOught  good  for  her  beloved  friend  and 
master ;  need  she  fear  any  change  or  any  trial  which  the 
future  might  have  in  store  for  her  ? 

"  It  will  work  for  good,  this  pain  and  separation,"  mur- 
mured she.  "  I  'm  no*  like  the  muiister,  but  fi*ail  and  foolish, 
and  wilful  too  whiles,  but  I  humbly  hope  that  I  am  one  of 
those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"Well,  bairns!"  said  the  father.  There  was  a  gentle  stir 
and  movement  among  them,  though  there  was  no  need,  for 
Graeme  had  already  set  her  father's  chair  and  opened  the 
Bible  at  the  place.  She  pushed  aside  the  cradle  a  httle  that 
he  might  pass,  and  he  sat  down  among  them. 

"  We  'U  take  a  Psalm,  to-night,"  said  he,  after  a  minute's 
turning  of  the  leaves  from  a  "  namey  chajster"  in  Chronicles, 
the  usual  place.     He  chose  the  forty-sixth. 

"  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in 
trouble.  ' 

"  Therefore  will  not  wo  fear,  though  the  earth  bo  removed, 
though  the  mountains  be  cast  into  the  midst  of  the  sea." 


^if 


\ 


34 


JANET'S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


h: 


Aiid  thus  on  tlu'oui^h  tlio  next, 

"  Ho  shall  choose  our  mhcritauce  for  us,  the  excellency  of 
Jacob,  ■whom  ho  lovod." 

And  still  on  through  the  next  tiU  the  last  verso, 

"  This  God  is  our  God  forever  and  ever.  He  ^^ill  bo  oiur 
guide,  even  imto  death,"  seemed  like  the  triumphant  ending 
of  a  song  of  praise. 

Then  there  was  a  momentary  hush  and  pause.  Never 
since  the  mother's  voice  had  gi'o^xTi  silent  in  death  had  the 
voice  of  song  risen  at  worship  time.  The}'  had  tried  it  more 
than  once,  and  ftiiled  in  bitter  weeping.  But  Janet,  fearful 
that  their  silence  was  a  sin,  had  to-night  brought  the  hynui- 
books  which  they  always  used,  and  laid  them  at  Ai'tliai''s 
side.  In  the  silence  that  followed  the  reading  Graeme  looked 
from  him  to  them,  but  Arthur  shook  his  head.  Ho  was  not 
sure  that  his  voice  would  make  its  way  through  the  lump 
that  had  been  gathering  in  his  throat  while  his  father  read, 
and  he  felt  that  to  fail  would  be  dreadful,  so  there  was  silence 
still. 

There  was  a  Httle  lingering  round  the  fire  after  worship 
was  over,  but  when  Arthur  went  quietly  away  the  boys  soon 
followed.  Graeme  would  fain  have  staid  to  speak  a  few 
words  to  her  father,  on  tliis  first  night  of  his  retiu*n.  He  was 
sitting  gazing  into  the  fire,  with  a  face  so  grave  that  his 
daughter's  heart  ached  for  his  loneliness.  But  a  j)eevish  voice 
'from  the  cradle  admonished  her  that  she  must  to  her  task 
again,  and  so  with  a  c^uiet  "good  night,  papa,"  she  took  her 
little  sister  in  her  arms.  Up  stairs  she  went,  murmuiing 
tender  words  to  her  "wee  bu'die,"  her  "bonny  lammie," 
her  "  little  gentle  dove,"  more  than  repaid  for  all  her  weari- 
ness and  care,  by  the  fond  nestling  of  the  little  head  upon 
her  bosom  ;  for  her  love,  which  was  more  a  mother's  than  a 
sister's,  made  the  burden  light. 

The  house  was  quiet  at  last.  The  boys  had  talked  them- 
selves to  sleep,  and  the  minister  had  gone  to  his  study  again. 
This  had  been  one  of  Rosie's  "  weary  nights."  The  voices 
of  her  brothers  had  wakened  her  in  the  parlor,  and  Graeme 


JANETS    LOVi:    AND   SERVICE. 


•1, 


lillcncy  of 


ill  bo  oiir 
it  ending 

2.  Never 
1  had  tiio 
id  it  more 
ct,  fearful 
lie  liyiiin- 
Artliur's 
me  looked 
3  was  not 
the  lump 
bher  read, 
'as  silence 

r  worship 

)oys  soon 

ik  a  few 

He  was 

that  his 

vish  voice 

her  task 

!  took  her 

urmuiing 

lammie," 

ler  weari- 

ead  upon 

's  than  a 

ied  them- 
dy  again, 
he  voices 
1  Graeme 


had  a  long  walk  with  the  fivtfid  child,  before  she  was  soothed 
to  sleep  again.  But  she  did  sleep  at  last,  and  just  as  Janet 
hcd  ihiished  lier  nightly  round,  shutting  th(!  wukIowh  and 
ban-ing  the  doors,  Graeme  crept  do\\ii  stairs,  and  entered  the 
kitchen.  The  red  embers  still  glowed  on  the  hearth,  but 
Janet  was;  in  the  very  act  of  "  resting  the  lu'c  "  for  the  night. 

"Oh!  Janet,"  said  Graeme,  "imt  on  another  peat.  I'm 
cold,  and  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Miss  Graeme !  You  up  at  this  time  o'  the  night !  "What 
ails  yon  cankered  fauy  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Janet !  She  's  asleep  long  ago,  and  I  want  to  speak 
to  you."  And  before  Janet  could  remonstrate,  one  of  the  diy 
peats  set  ready  for  the  morning  th-e  v;as  thrown  on  the  em- 
bers, and  soon  blazed  brightly  up.  Graeme  crouched  down 
before  it,  with  her  ann  over  Janet's  knee. 

"  Janet,  what  did  yoiu*  mother  say  ?  And  oh !  Janet, 
Ai-tlnu'  says  my  father "  Tiu'ning  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment, Graeme  let  her  head  fall  on  Janet's  lap,  and  biu'st  into 
tears.     Janet  tried  to  lift  her  face. 

"Whist!  Miss  (U-aomc !  AMiat  ails  the  lassie?  It's  no' 
the  thought  of  going  awa',  sm*ely?  You  hae  kenned  this 
was  to  be  a  whUe  syne.  You  hae  Httle  to  gi-eet  about,  if  you 
but  kenned  it — you,  who  are  going  altogether." 

"  Janet,  Aiihiu'  is  to  bide  in  Scotland." 
.   "  "Well,  it  wiima  be  for  long.     Just  till  he  's  clone  at  the 
college.     I  dtiro  say  it 's  the  best  thing  that  can  hajipen  him 
to  bide.     But  who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Arthur  told  me  after  we  went  up  stairs  to-night.  And, 
oh  !  Janet !  what  will  I  ever  do  without  hun  ?  " 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  deai* !  You  hae  done  without  him  these 
two  years  ah'cady  mostly,  and  even  if  we  all  were  to  bide  in 
Scotland,  you  would  hae  to  do  without  him  still.  He  could 
na'  be  hero  and  at  the  college  too.  And  when  he 's  done 
with  that  he  Vy'oiild  hae  to  go  clsev/here.  FamiUes  canna  aye 
bide  together.     Bairns  maun  part." 

"  But,  Janet,  to  go  so  far  and  leave  him  !  It  will  seem  al- 
most hke  death." 


i 


BQ 


JANETS    L(»VK    AND   SKRVICK. 


"  But,  lassio  it  'h  no'  death.  Tlicro  's  a  great  differeiice. 
And  as  for  scein;;^  him  again,  that  is  as  the  Lord  wills. 
Anyway,  it  doesna  become  you  to  cast  a  slight  on  your 
father's  judgment,  as  though  ho  had  decided  unwisely  in  this 
matter.  Do  you  no'  tliink  it  will  cost  him  something  to  part 
from  his  first-bom  son  ?  " 

"  But,  Janet,  why  need  he  part  from  him  ?  Think  how 
much  better  it  would  be  for  liim,  and  for  us  all,  if  iVi'thur 
should  go  with  us.     Ai-thui*  is  ahnost  a  man." 

"  Xa,  lass.  He  '11  no'  hae  a  man's  sense  this  while  yet. 
And  as  for  his  goin'  or  bidin',  it 's  no'  for  you  or  me  to  seek 
for  the  why  and  the  wherefore  o'  the  matter.  It  might  be 
better — more  cheery — for  you  and  us  all  if  your  elder  brother 
were  with  us,  but  it  wouldna  be  best  for  liim  to  go,  or  your 
father  would  never  leave  him,  you  may  be  sure  o'  that." 

Tliore  was  a  long  silence.  Grjieme  sat  gazing  into  the 
dying  embers.  Janet  tiu'ew  on  another  peat,  and  a  bright 
blaze  sprang  up  again. 

"Miss  Grreme,  my  dear,  if  it 's  a  vnse  and  right  thing  for 
your  father  to  take  you  all  over  the  sea,  the  going  or  the 
biding  o'  your  elder  brother  can  make  no  real  difference. 
You  must  seek  to  see  the  rights  o'  this.  If  yom*  father  hasna 
him  to  help  liim  with  the  baims  and — ither  things,  the  more 
he  '11  need  you,  and  you  maun  hae  patience,  and  strive  no'  to 
disappoint  him.  You  hae  muckle  to  be  thankful  for — ^you 
that  can  write  to  ane  anither  like  a  printed  book,  to  keep  ane 
anither  in  mind.  There 's  nae  fear  o'  your  growin'  out  o' 
acquaintance,  and  he  'U  soon  follow,  you  may  be  sure.  Oh, 
lassie,  lassie  !  if  you  could  only  ken  !  " 

(iraeme  raised  herself  up,  and  leaned  both  her  arms  on 
Janet's  lap. 

"  Janet,  what  did  your  mother  say  ?  " 

Janet  gulped  something  'iown,  and  said,  huskily, 

"  Oh !  she  said  many  a  thing,  but  she  made  nae  wark  about 
it.  I  told  yoiir  father  I  would  go,  and  I  will.  My  mother 
doesna  object." 

"  And  Sandy  ? "  said  Graeme,  softly,  for  there  was  some- 


^ff 


jaxet's  love  and  service. 


37 


(liffercTice. 
iorcl  wills, 
t  on  yoiir 
cly  in  this 
ng  to  part 

hink  how 
if  iVi'thur 

while  yet. 
le  to  seek 
might  bo 
er  brother 
),  or  your 
hat." 

f  into  the 
.  a  bright 

thing  for 

ug  or  the 

hffcrence. 

ler  hasna 

;he  more 

ivo  no*  to 

for — ^you 

keep  ane 

in'  out  o' 

u'C.     Oh, 

arms  on 


irk  about 
f  mother 

as  some* 


thin'*  working  in  Janet's  face,  wliich  she  clitl    not  like  to 

see. 

"  Sandy  will  aye  hao  my  mother,  and  she  '11  hae  Sandy. 
But,  la.s.si(',  it  winna  bear  spealiing  about  to-night.  Gang 
awa'  to  your  bed." 

Giaeme  rose,  but  did  not  go. 

"  But  couldna  Sandy  go  with  us  ?  It  would  only  be  one 
more.     Surely,  Juiiet " 

Janet  made  a  movement  of  impatience,  or  entreaty,  Graeme 
did  not  know  which,  but  it  stopped  her. 

"  Na,  na !  Sandy  couldna  leave  my  mother,  even  if  it  would 
be  wise  for  me  to  take  him.  There  's  no  more  to  bo  said 
about  that."  And  in  spite  of  herself,  Janet's  tears  gushed 
forth,  as  niortal  eyes  had  never  seen  them  gush  before,  since 
she  was  a  herd  lassie  on  the  hills.  Graeme  looked  on,  hushed 
and  frightened,  and  in  a  little,  Janet  quieted  herself  and 
wiped  her  face  with  her  apron. 

"  You  see,  dear,  what  with  on^  thing  and  what  witli  an- 
other, I  'm  weary  and  vexed  to-night,  and  no'  just  myself. 
Matters  will  look  more  hopefnl,  both  to  you  and  to  me,  the 
morn.  There  's  one  thing  certain.  Both  you  and  me  hao 
much  to  do  that  maun  be  done,  before  we  see  saut  water, 
without  losing  tune  in  gnimbhn*  at  what  canna  be  helj)ed. 
What  with  the  bairns'  clothes  and  ither  things,  we  winna 
need  to  be  idle  ;  so  let  us  awa'  to  our  beds  that  we  may  bo 
up  bethnes  the  morn." 

Graeme  still  Imgered. 

"  O,  Janet !  if  my  mother  were  only  here  !  How  easy  it 
all  would  be." 

"  Ay,  lass !  I  hae  said  that  to  myself  many  a  time  this 
while.  But  He  that  took  her  canna  do  wrong.  There  was 
some  need  for  it,  or  she  would  hae  been  here  to-night.  You 
mami  aye  .strive  to  fill  her  place  to  them  all." 

Graeme's  tears  flowed  forth  afresh. 

"  O  Janet !  I  think  you  're  mocking  me  when  you  say  that. 
How  could  /  ever  fill  her  place  ?  " 

"No'  by  your  ain  strength  and  \s-isdom  sui'ely  my  lam- 


iit! 


il'/i< 


38 


JAXET  S    LOVE    A^!D   SEEVICE. 


i 


niic.  But  it  would  ]w  limiting  liis  giuico  to  say  Ho  canua 
make  you  all  you  sliould  ]n: — all  that  slic  ■svas,  and  that  is 
sa^'iiig  niuclclo  ;  for  .she  wan  wise  far  by  the  common.  But 
now  gang  awa'  to  your  Ijcd,  and  dinna  forgot  your  good 
words.  There 's  no  fear  but  you  will  bo  in  God's  kcej)ing 
wherever  you  go." 

Janet  v»^as  right ;  they  had  need  of  all  their  strength  and 
15atiencc  during  the  next  two  months.  AVhen  Janet  had  con- 
fidence in  herself,  she  did  what  was  to  bo  done  with  a  will. 
But  she  had  little  skill  hi  making  prnx-hases,  and  loss  experi- 
ence, and  Graeme  svas  little  bettei-.  Many  things  must  bo 
got,  and  money  could  not  be  spent  lavishly,  and  there  was 
no  time  to  lose. 

But,  with  the  aid  of  Mrs.  Smith  and  other  kind  friends, 
their  preparations  were  got  through  at  last.  Pui'chasos  were 
made,  mending  and  makuig  of  gannents  were  accomplished, 
and  the  labor  of  packing  was  got  through,  to  theii*  cntii'c 
satisfaction. 

The  muiister  said  good-bye  to  each  of  his  people  separately, 
either  in  the  kirk,  or  in  his  own  home  or  theirs  ;  but  ho 
shrunk  from  last  words,  and  fi'om  the  sight  of  all  the  sorrow- 
ful faces  that  were  sure  to  gather  to  see  them  go  ;  so  he  went 
away  at  night,  and  stayed  with  a  fi'iend,  a  few  miles  on  their 
way.  But  it  was  the  faii'ost  of  summer  mornings — the  mist 
just  lifting  from  the  hills — and  the  sweet  air  filled  with  tho 
laverocks  song,  when  Janet  and  tho  bairns  looked  theu'  last 
upon  thcii'  homo. 


ll'ii: 


'  Ho  caniia 
md  that  is 
mon.  But 
your  good 
I's  kcojaiig 

•cngth  and 
3t  liad  con- 
itli  a  ^vill. 
less  Lxjicri- 
s  must  bo 
tliere  was 

id  friends, 
lases  were 
Mnplishcd, 
icir  cntii-e 

cparately, 
y  ;  but  ho 
10  sorrow- 
;o  he  went 
s  on  tlieir 
-the  mist 
with  -tho 
thcii-  last 


CHAPTER    V. 

THEY  found  themselves  on  board  tho  "Steadfast"  at 
hist.  Tho  day  of  saihng  was  bright  and  bcautifu],  a 
perfect  (lay  for  the  sea,  or  the  hind  cither  ;  but  the  wind  roso 
in  the  night  and  the  rain  game  on,  and  a  veiy  di'cary  morn- 
ing broke  on  them  as  tho  last  ghmpsc  of  land  was  fading  in 
Iho  distance. 

"  0]i !  how  dismal ! "  mimnur.ed  Graeme,  as  in  utter  dis- 
comfort she  seated  herself  on  the  damp  deck,  with  her  Httlo 
sister  in  her  arms.  All  the  rest,  excepting  her  father,  and  not 
excepting  Janet,  were  down  with,  sca-siclaicss,  and  even  Nor- 
man and  Harry  had  lost  hoart  under  its  dc} >ressing  inlluenco. 
Another  horn-  in  the  close  cabin,  and  Graeme  felt  she  must 
yield  too— and  then  what  would  become  of  Rose '?  So  into  a 
mist  that  was  almost  rain  she  came,  as  the  day  was  brcaldu"-, 
and  sat  down  with  her  Httlo  sist(;r  upon  tlie  deck.  For  a 
mimitc  she  closed  her  eyes  on  tho  drcarmess  around,  and 
leaned  her  head  on  a  hencoop  at  her  side.  Rose  had  been 
fi-ctful  and  uneasy  all  night,  but  now  well  pleased  with  tho 
new  sights  around  her,  she  sat  stiU  on  her  sister  s  lap.  Soon 
the  cheerful  voice  of  the  Captain  startled  Graeme. 

"Touch  and  go  with  you  I  see,  Miss  ElHott.  I  am  afi-aid 
you  will  have  to  ,i.;ive  in  like  the  rest." 

Graeme  looked  up  v/ith  a  smile  that  was  sickly  cnoufdi. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  said  she. 

"Well,  you  are  a  bravo  lass  to  t^.mk  of  h  ■',  Mig  it  with  a 
face  like  that.  Come  and  tako  a  quick  walk  up  and  down 
the  deck  with  me.  It  will  do  you  good.  Sci  down  tho 
bairn,"  for  Graeme  was  risuig  witli  Hose  hi  her  anns.  "No 
liarm  wHl  come  to  her,  and  you  don't  look  lit  to  cany  your- 

(39) 


40 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SLRVICE. 


B 


it'iii 


1 

f 

! 

1 

• 

self.  Sit  you  there,  my  -wee  fairy,  till  we  come  back  again. 
Here,  Rutlivcn,"  he  called  to  a  yoimg  man  who  was  walkmg 
up  and  do\\ni  on  the  other  side  of  the  deck,  "  come  and  try 
your  hand  at  baby  tending.  That  may  be  among  the  %vork 
I'equired  of  you  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada,  who  knows  ?  " 

Tlie  young  man  came  forward  laughing,  and  Graeme  sub- 
mitted to  be  led  away.  The  httle  lady  left  on  the  deck 
seemed  very  much  inclined  to  resent  the  unceremrnious  dis- 
posal of  so  important  a  persv:.ri,  as  she  was  always  made,  to 
feel  herself  to  be.  But  she  took  a  look  "nto  the  face  of  her 
new  friend  and  thought  better  of  it.  His  face  was  a  good 
one,  frank  and  kindly,  and  Rose  suftered  herself  to  be  lifted 
up  and  placed  uj)on  his  knee,  and  when  Graeme  came  back 
again,  after  a  biisk  walk  of  fifteen  minutes,  she  found  the  ht- 
tle one,  usually  so  fretful  and  "ill  to  do  with,"  laughing 
merrily  in  the  stranger's  arms.  She  would  have  taken  her, 
but  Rose  was  pleased  to  stay. 

"  You  are  the  very  first  stranger  that  ever  she  was  w  illiiig 
to  go  to,"  said  she,  gratefully.  Looking  uj),  she  did  not  won- 
der at  Rosie's  fancy  for  the  face  that  smiled  down  upon  her. 

"  I  ought  to  feel  myself  highly  honored,'  said  he. 

"  I  think  we  11  give  him  the  benefit  of  Uttlc  Missy's  prefer- 
ence," said  Captain  Armstrong,  who  had  been  watching 
Graeme  with  a  httle  amused  anxiety  since  her  v/alk  was  ended. 
The  color  that  the  exercise  had  given  her  was  fast  fading 
from  her  face,  till  her  very  hj^s  grew  white  with  the  deadly 
sickness  that  was  commg  over  her. 

"  You  had  best  go  to  the  cabin  a  wee  while.  You  must 
give  up,  I  think,"  said  he. 

Graeme  rose  languidl3\ 

"Yes,  I'm  afi-aid  so.     Come  Rosie." 

"  Leave  the  little  one  with  me,"  said  iMr.  Ruthven.  And 
that  was  the  last  Graeme  saw  of  Rosie  for  the  next  twelve 
hours,  for  she  was  not  to  escape  the  misery  that  had  fallen  so 
heavily  upon  the  rest,  and  very  wearily  the  day  passed.  It 
jDassed,  however,  at  last,  and  the  next,  which  was  calm  and 
bright  as  heart  could  wish,  saw  them  all  on  deck  again. 


JANET  S    LOVE   AKl)   SERVICE. 


41 


back  again, 
was  walking 
omo  and  tiy 
ng  the  %vork 
o  knows  ? " 
Graeme  sub- 
3n  the  deck 
tnrnious  dis- 
ajs  made,  to 

face  of  her 
was  a  good 

to  be  lifted 
)  came  back 
ound  the  ht- 
i,"  laughing 
e  taken  her, 

was  willing, 
lid  not  won 
Q  upon  her. 
e. 

ssy's  prefer- 
watching 

was  ended. 

'ast  fading 

the  deadly 

You  must 


vcn.  And 
lext  twelve 
d  fallen  so 
)assed.  It 
calm  and 
3ck  again. 


Tliey  came  with  dizzy  heads  and  uncertain  stcjis  it  is  time, 
but  the  sea  an-  soon  brought  color  to  their  checks,  and 
strength  to  their  limbs,  and  theu*  sea  life  fairly  began. 

But  alas !  for  Janet.  The  thii'd  day,  and  the  tenth  fomid 
her  stiU  in  her  berth,  altogether  unable  to  stand  up  against 
the  power  that  held  her.  In  vain  she  struggled  against 
it.  The  Steadfasi's  shghtest  motion  was  sufficient  to  over- 
power her  quite,  till  at  last  she  made  no  effort  to  rise,  but  lay 
there,  disgustc'l  with  herself  and  all  the  world.  On  the  calm- 
est and  fairest  days,  they  would  prevail  on  her  to  be  helped 
up  to  the  deck,  and  there  amid  sIid "Is  and  pillows  she  would 
sit, -endm'iug  one  degree  less  of  misery  than  she  did  in  the 
close  cabin  below. 

"  It  was  just  a  judgment  upon  her,"  she  said,  "  to  let  her 
sec  whtvt  a  poor  conceited  body  she  was.  She,  that  had  been 
making  inucldo  o'  herself,  as  though  the  Lord  coiUdna  take 
care  o'  tlie  baii'ns  without  her  help." 

It  was  not  sufficient  to  be  told  hourly  that  the  children 
were  well  and  happy,  or  to  see  it  with  her  own  eyes.  This 
aggi'avated  her  trouble.  "  Useless  body  that  I  am."  And 
Janot  did  not  wait  for  a  sight  of  a  strange  land,  to  begin  to 
pine  for  the  land  she  had  left,  and  what  with  seasickness  and 
homesickness  together,  she  had  very  httle  hope  that  she 
would  ever  see  land  of  any  kind  again. 

The  lads  and  Marian  enjoyed  six  weeks  of  perfect  happi- 
ness. Graeme  and  their  father  at  first  were  in  constant  fear 
of  their  getting  into  danger.  It  would  onl}'  have  provoked 
disobedience  ha<l  all  sorts  of  climbing  been  forbidden,  for 
tlie  temptation  to  try  to  outdo  each  other  in  their  imitation 
of  the  sailors,  was  quite  irresistible  ;  and  not  a  rope  in  the 
rigging,  nor  a  corner  in  the  ship,  but  they  were  familiar  with 
Ixfoie  lI^c  first  few  days  were  over.  "And,  indeed,  they 
were  wondeifully  preserved,  tlie  f<jolisli  lads,"  their  father 
acknowledged,  and  grew  content  about  them,  at  last. 

Before  me  lies  the  journal  of  the  voyage,  faithfidly  kept  in 
a  big  book  gi\ev.  by  Ai'thur  for  the  purpose.  A  full  and  com- 
plete history  of  the  six  weeks  might  be  written  fi'om  it,  but  I 


AO, 


jani:ts  love  and  service. 


|: 


■llH 


forbear.  Norman  or  Harry,  in  language  olj.sciu'cly  nautical, 
notes  daily  the  lojij^itudL;  or  tho  latitud(>,  and  tlic  knots  they 
make  an  hour.  Thcro  arc  notices  of  whales,  seen  in  tho  dis- 
tance, and  of  shoals  of  porpoises  seen  near  at  hand.  TIk  ro 
arc  stories  <^iven  which  they  have  lieard  in  the  forecastle,  and 
hints  of  practical  jokes  and  tricks  played  on  one  another. 
The  history  of  each  sailor  in  the  ship  is  {^nvcn,  from  "  hand- 
some Franlc,  tlio  first  Yankee,  and  the  Ijcst  sinjjer  "  the  boys 
ever  saw,  to  Father  Abraham,  the  Dutchman,  "with  short 
legs  and  sliorter  temper." 

Graeme  writes  often,  and  daily  bewails  Janet's  continued 
illness,  and  rejoices  over  "  wco  Rosie's  "  improved  hcaltii'and 
temper.  AVitli  her  account  of  tlie  boys  and  tlicir  doings,  she 
mingles  emphatic  wishes  "  that  they  had  more  sense,"  but 
on  the  "/hole  they  arc  satisfactory'.  She  has  much  to  say  of 
the  bo  i  10  has  been  rcadii:ig — "a  good  many  of  Sir 
Walter  fc...  -"  that  papa  does  not  ol)ject  to,"  lent  by  Allan 
Ruthven.  There  are  Iniits  of  discussions  Avith  him  about 
the  books,  too  ,:  and  Graeme  declares  she  "has  no  patience  " 
with  Allan.  For  his  favorites  in  Sir  Walter's  books  are  sel- 
dom those  who  arc  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake  ;  and 
there  arc  allusions  to  battles  fought  with  him  in  behalf  of 
the  good  name  of  the  Old  Pm*itans — men  whom  Graeme  dc- 
hglits  to  honor.  But  on  the  whole  it  is  to  bo  seen,  that 
Allan  is  a  favorite  with  her  and  with  them  all. 

The  beautiful  Bay  of  Boston  was  reached  at  last,  and  with 
an  interest  that  cannot  bo  told,  the  little  party — including 
the  restored  Jiuict — regarded  the  city  to  which  they  were 
drawing  near.  Tlicir  ideas  of  what  they  were  to  see  first  in 
the  new  world  had  been  rather  indefinite  and  vaj^ie.  Far 
more  familiar  with  the  early  history  of  New  England — with 
such  scenes  as  tho  landing  of  tho  pilgrims,  a,nd  the  departm'o 
of  Roger  Williams  to  a  still  more  distant  wilderness,  than 
with  4ie  history  of  modern  advance,  it  was  certainly  not  such 
a  city  they  had  expected  to  see.  But  they  gazed  with  ever  in- 
creasing delight,  as  they  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  it  through 
tho  beautiful  bav. 


Janet's  love  and  seevict:. 


43 


•cly  nautical, 
c  Iciiots  they 
■n  ill  the  dis- 
aiul.  Tlicro 
a-ccastlc,  and 
Hic  aiioOior. 
L'om  "haiid- 
'V  "  tlic  bovs 
■'with  sliort 

s  continued 

I  Iicalth'and 

cloing-s,  slio 

sense/'  l)ut 

^Ii  to  say  of 

any  of  Sir 

it  by  Allan 

liiin  about 

0  paticnee  " 
oks  arc  sel- 
sakc  ;  and 

1  behalf  of 
iracmc  de- 
scon,  that 

^,  and  with 
-inchidin'v 
they  were 
!eo  first  in 
',P-io.  Far 
md— with 

doixartui-G 
ness,  than 
'  not  snch 
fch  ever  in- 
t  through 


"  And  this  is  the  wonderful  new  world,  that  promises  so 
much  to  us  all,"  said  Man. 

"  They  Imvo  loft  unstained  -what  there  thoy  found, 
Froodom  to  worriliip  (iod," 

murmured   Graeme,    softly.      "I'm   sui'c  I  shall  hkc   the 
Aineiican  people." 

But  Allan  was  taking  to  heart  the  thought  of  parting  fi-oni 
them  all,  more  than  was  at  all  reasonable,  he  said  to  hunsclf, 
and  he  could  not  answer  her  with  a  jest  as  ho  might  at 
another  time. 

"  You  must  wiite  and  tell  mo  about  your  new  home,"  said 
he. 

"  Yes  —  the  boys  will  ANiite  ;  we  nil  all  write.  I  can 
hardly  believe  that  six  weeks  ago  we  had  never  seen  you. 
Oh !  I  wish  you  were  going  with  us,"  said  Graeme. 

"Allan  will  see  Arthur  when  he  comes.  Ai'thui-  will  want 
to  see  all  the  ct)untrv,"  said  Norman. 

"  And  maybe  he  wiU  hkc  the  Queen's  dommions  best,  and 
wish  to  settle  there,"  said  AUan. 

"  Oh !  but  we  shall  see  you  long  before  Ai'thur  comes," 
said  Graeme.     "  Is  it  very  far  to  Canada  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — not  very  far  I  suppose.  I  don't  feel  half 
so  hopeful  now  that  I  am  aljout  to  know  what  m}'  fate  is  to 
be.  I  have  a  gTcat  dread  on  me.  I  have  a  mind  not  to  go 
to  my  imclo  at  all,  but  seek  my  fortune  here." 

"But  your  mother  wouldna  be  pleased,"  said  Graeme, 
gi'avely. 

"  No,  She  has  great  hopes  of  what  my  uncle  may  do  for 
me.  But  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  me  not  to  be  con- 
fined to  one  com-se.  I  should  lilco  to  look  about  me  a  little, 
Ijcfore  I  get  fairly  into  the  treadmill  of  business." 

In  her  heart  Graeme  thought  it  an  excellent  thing  for 
Allan  that  he  had  his  uncle  to  go  to.  She  had  her  own  ideas 
about  young  people's  looking  about  them,  with  nothing  par- 
ticular to  do,  and  quite  agreed  with  Janet  and  Dr.  Watts  as 
to  the  work  likely  to  be  found  for  them  to  do.     But  sho 


I 


"•Sit 


44 


JANTr'a    LOVE    AXI)    SKRVICE, 


1) 


thought  it  would  be  very'  nice  for  them  all,  if  instead  of 
setting  off  at  onco  for  Canada,  Allan  might  have  gone  with 
them  for  a  little  while.  Before  she  could  say  this,  however, 
Janet  spoke. . 

"  Ay,  that 's  bairn-like,  though  you  hae  a  man's  stature. 
I  dare  say  you  would  think  it  a  braw  thing  to  bo  at  naebody's 
bid(hng  ;  but,  my  lad,  it 's  ae'  tiling  to  hae  a  friend's  house, 
and  a  welcome  waiting  you  in  a  strange  land  hke  this,  and  it 's 
anither  thing  to  sit  solitary  in  a  bare  lodging,  even  though 
you  may  hae  hberty  to  come  and  go  at  your  ain  will.  If 
you  're  hke  the  lads  that  I  ken'  maist  about,  you  '11  be  none 
the  worse  of  a  little  wholesome  restramt.  Be  thankful  for 
your  mercies. 

Allan  laughed  good-humoredly. 

But  really,  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  you  are  too  hard  on  me.  Just 
think  what  a  country  this  is.  Think  of  the  mountains,  and 
rivers  and  lakes,  and  of  all  these  wonderful  forests  and 
prairiop  that  Norman  reads  about,  and  is  it  strange  that  I 
should  grudge  myself  to  a  dull  counting-room,  ■svith  all  these 
thing!;-'  (  en^'oy  ?  It  is  not  the  thought  of  the  restraint  that 
troubles  me.  I  only  fear  I  shall  become  too  soon  content 
with  the  routine,  till  I  forget  how  to  enjoy  anything  but  the 
making  and  counthig  of  money.  I  am  siu'e  anything  would 
be  better  than  to  come  to  that." 

"  You  '11  hae  many  things  between  you  and  the  like  o'  that, 
if  you  do  your  duty.  You  have  them  you  are  going  to,  and 
them  you  hae  left — youi*  mother  and  brother.  And  though 
you  had  none  o'  them,  you  could  aye  find  some  poor  body  to 
be  kmd  to,  to  keep  your  heart  soft.  Are  you  to  bide  in  jour 
uncle's  house  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  IMi'S.  Peter  Stone,  that  was  home  last 
year,  told  us  that  my  uncle  Hves  in  the  country,  and  liis 
clerks  live  in  the  town  anywhere  they  Hke.  I  shall  do  as  the 
rest  do  I  suppose.  All  the  better — I  shall  be  the  more  able 
to  do  what  I  Hke  with  my  leisure." 

"  Ay,  it 's  aye  Hberty  that  the  like  o'  you  deHght  in.  Weel, 
see  that  you  make  a  good  use  of  it,  that  *s  the  chief  thing. 


jani:t's  ix)VE  and  service. 


45 


instead  of 
3  goDc  with 
s,  however, 

I's  statuvo. 
-J  naebody's 
tid's  house, 
lis,  and  it 's 
;^en  though 
n  will.  If 
11  be  none 
lankful  for 


me.  Just 
itains,  and 
(rests  and 
ige  that  I 
1  all  these 
a*aint  that 
n  content 
ig  but  the 
ing  would 

le  o'  that, 
ig  to,  and 
id  though 
»r  body  to 
e  in  ^our 

lome  last 
and  liis 
do  as  tho 
nore  able 

a.  "Weel, 
ef  tiling. 


Eead  yoiu*  Bible  and  gang  to  the  khk,  and  there  's  no  fear  o' 
you.  And  dinna  forget  to  write  to  yoiu*  mother.  She  's  had 
many  a  weary  thought  about  you  'cro  this  time,  I  '11  warrant." 

"  I  dai'csay  I  shall  be  content  enough.  But  it  seems  like 
parting  from  home  again,  to  think  of  leaving  you  all.  My 
bonnic  wee  Rosie,  what  shall  I  ever  do  without  you  ?"  said 
Allan,  caressing  the  httle  one  who  had  clambered  on  his  knee. 

"And  what  shall  we  do  without  you?  "  ex'-laimcd  a  chorus 
of  voices  ;  and  Norman  added, 

"  WHiat  is  the  use  of  your  going  all  the  way  to  Canada, 
when  there  's  enough  for  you  to  do  here.  Come  with  us, 
Allan,  man,  and  never  mind  your  uncle." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  for  him,  in  case  he  should  give  his 
uncle  up  for  you  ?"  demanded  Janet,  sharply. 

"  Oh  !  he  '11  get  just  what  v/e  '11  get  om'sclvcs,  a  chance  to 
make  his  own  way,  and  I  doubt  whether  he  'U  get  more 
where  he 's  going.  I  've  no  faith  in  rich  uncles."  Allan 
laughed. 

"  Thank  you,  Norman,  lad.  I  must  go  to  Canada  first, 
however,  whether  I  stay  there  or  not.  Maj-bo  you  will  see 
me  agam,  sooner  than  I  think  now.  Surely,  i:i  the  great 
town  before  us,  there  might  be  found  work,  and  a  place  for 
me." 

Far  away  before  them,  stretched  the  twinkling  hghts  of 
the  town,  and  silence  fcU  upon  them  as  they  watched  them. 
In  another  day  they  would  be  among  the  thousands  who 
lived,  and  labored,  and  suffered  m  it.  "What  awaited  them 
there  ?  Not  that  they  feared  the  future,  or  doubted  a  wel- 
come. Indeed,  they  were  too  young  to  think  much  of  pos- 
sible evils.  A  new  life  was  opening  before  them,  no  fear 
but  it  would  be  a  happy  one.  Graeme  had  seen  more  trouble 
than  the  rest,  being  older,  and  she  was  naturally  less  hope- 
ful, but  then  she  had  no  fear  for  them  all,  only  the  thought 
that  they  were  about  to  enter  on  a  new,  untried  life,  made 
her  excited  and  anxious,  and  the  thought  of  partiiig  with 
their  friend  made  her  sad. 

As  for  Janet,  she  was  herself  again.     Her  coui'age  return- 


46 


JANETS    LOVK    AND    bJTvVlCK. 


.1 


il       i 


i   I 


cd  w'lion  tlio  sGa-siclincr-is  departed,  aud  now  sLo  was  ready 
"to  put  a  Htout  heart  to  a  still"  brae"  as  of  old.  "Disjasldt 
loolduf^"  slio  was,  and  not  so  strong  as  she  used  to  be,  but 
slio  was  as  active  as  ever,  and  more  than  thankful  to  be  able 
to  k(>ep  her  feet  again.  She  had  been  busy  all  the  morning, 
overhauling  the  belongings  of  the  family,  preparatory  to 
landing,  much  to  the  discomfort  of  all  concemcLL  All  the 
mornmg  Graeme  had  submitted  with  a  passably  good  gi*ace 
toiler  cross- questionings  as  to  the  "guiding"  of  this  and 
that,  while  she  had  l)een  unable  to  give  personal  supervision 
to  family  matters.  Thankful  to  sec  her  at  her  post  again, 
Graeme  tried  to  make  apparent  her  own  good  management 
of  matters  in  general,  during  the  voyage,  but  she  was  only 
partially  successful.  Tlicre  were  far  more  rents  and  stains, 
and  soiled  garments,  than  Janet  considered  at  all  necessary, 
and  besides  many  familiar  articles  of  wearing  apparel  were 
missing,  after  due  search  made.  Li  vain  Graeme  begged 
her  never  to  mind  just  now.  They  were  in  the  big  blue 
chest,  or  the  little  brovai  one,  she  couldna  just  mind  where 
she  had  put  them,  but  of  course  they  would  be  found,  when 
all  the  boxes  were  oi)ened. 

"  Maybe  no,"  said  Janet.  "  There  are  some  long  fingers, 
I  doubt,  in  the  steerage  yonder.  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  we" 
would  need  to  bo  carefa'.  If  I  'm  no'  mistaken,  I  saw  one  o' 
Norman's  spotted  handkerchiefs  about  the  neck  o'  j'on  lang 
Johnny  Heeraan,  and  yon  little  Iiish  lassie  ga  'ed  past  mo 
the  day,  with  a  pinafore  very  like  one  o'  Menie's.  I  maun  ha' 
a  look  at  it  again." 

"  Oh,  Janet !  never  mind.  I  gave  wee  Norah  the  pinafore, 
and  the  old  bro^A^l  frock  besides.  She  had  mucih  need  of  them. 
And  poor  Johnny  came  on  board  on  the  pik^t  boat  you  ken, 
and  he  hadna  a  change,  and  Norman  gave  him  the  hand- 
kerchief and  an  old  waistcoat  of  papa's, — and  —  " 

Janet's  hands  were  uplifted  in  consternation. 

"  Keep 's  and  guide  's  lassie — that  I  should  say  such  a  word. 
Yoiu"  papa  hadna  an  old  waistcoat  in  his  possession.  What 
for  did  vou  do  the  like  o'  that  ?     The  like  o'  Norman  or 


.     iiil. 


JANKTS    U)\i:   AND    PKUVICK. 


47 


iis  ready 
Disj.'isldt 
0  bo,  but 
o  bo  ablo 
morning', 
■atory  to 
AU'  the 
>ocl  grace 
this  and 
pcrvision 
it  again, 
ag'cmcnt 
was  only 
d  stains, 
3ccssary, 
rcl  were 
!  begged 
big  blue 
d  where 
d,  when 

fingers, 
lear,  we* 
\v  one  o' 
on  lang 
past  nie 
aun  ha' 

inafore, 
f  them. 
on  Ifcn, 
hand- 


i  ^vord. 

Wliat 

[nan  or 


Menic  might  bo  excused,  \mi  you  that  I  thought  had  sorao 
sense  and  <lisc'rotion.  Yoiu"  father's  waistcoat !  Heard  auy- 
bodv  ever  the  like?  You  may  bo  thanlcful  that  vou  hac  some- 
body  that  kens  the  Vidue  of  good  ckjthos,  to  take  care  of  you 
and  them  —  " 

"  Oil !  I'm  thankful  as  you  could  wish,"  said  Graeme, 
laughing.  "  I  would  rather  see  you  sittuig  there,  in  the  inidst 
of  those  clothes,  than  to  see  the  Queen  on  her  tin-one.  I 
confess  to  the  waistcoat,  and  some  other  things,  but  minil, 
I  'ni  responsible  no  longt;r.  I  resign  my  office  of  general 
care-taker  to  you.  Success  to  you,"  and  Graeme  made  for 
t'-ie  cabin  stau's.     She  tmiied  again,  hov/ever. 

"  Never  heed,  Janet,  about  the  tlimgs.  Think  what  it  must 
be  to  have  no  change,  and  we  had  so  many.  Poor  wee 
Norah,  too.  Her  mother's  dead  you  ken,  and  she  looked  so 
miserable." 

Janet  was  pacified. 

"  Wccl,  Miss  Graeme,  I  '11  no'  heed.  But  my  dear,  it 's  no' 
like  we  'U  find  good  clotlies  growing  upon  trees  in  this  land, 
more  than  in  our  own.  i\jid  we  had  need  to  bo  careful.  I 
wonder  where  a'  the  strippet  pillow  slips  can  be  ?  I  see  far 
more  of  the  fme  ones  dirty  than  were  needed,  if  you  had 
been  careful,  and  guarded  them." 

But  (iraeme  was  out  of  heaiiug  before  she  came  to  this. 

They  landed  at  last,  and  a  very  dreary  landing  it  was. 
They  had  waited  for  hom-s,  till  the  clouds  should  exhaust 
themselves,  Ijut  the  raui  was  still  falling  when  they  left  the 
ship.  Eager  and  excited,  the  whole  party  were,  but  not 
after  the  anticipated  fashion.  Graeme  was  surprised,  and  a 
little  mortified,  to  find  no  particular  emotions  swelling  at  her 
heart,  as  her  feet  touched  the  soil  which  the  Puritans  had 
rendered  sacred.  Indeed,  she  was  too  painfully  conseious, 
that  the  sacred  soil  was  putting  her  shoes  a'ftd  frock  in  jeop- 
iwdy,  and  had  two  nuich  trouble  to  kec})  tiie  umbrella  over 
Marian  and  herself,  to  be  abk;  to  give  any  thanks  to  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  Pilgrim  fathers,  or  mothers  either.  Mr.  Elhott 
had  been  on  shore  in  the  mornino-,  and  had  engaged  rooms 


»«■■«■■ 


48 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


for  tliom  in  a  quiet  street,  and  thither  Allan  Ruthven,  cajny- 
injT  little  Hose,  was  to  conduct  them,  whUo  he  attended  to 
the  proper  bestowment  of  tlicir  baggage. 

This  duty  Janet  fam  would  have  shared  with  him.  Her 
reverence  for  the  m'nister,  and  his  many  excellencies,  did 
not  imi:)]y  entire  confidence  in  his  capacity,  for  that  sort  of 
business,  and  when  ho  du'ected  her  to  go  with  the  bairns,  it 
was  with  many  misgivings  that  she  obeyed  Lideed,  as  the 
loaded  cart  took  its  departure  in  another  direction,  she  ex- 
pressed herself  morally  certain,  that  they  had  seen  the  last 
of  it,  for  she  fully  believed  that,  "yon  sharp-looking  lad 
could  carry  it  off  from  beneath  the  mmister's  nose." 

Droad  of  more  distant  c\ils  was,  however,  (hivcn  from  her 
thoughts  by  present  necessities.  The  din  and  bustle  of  the 
ci'owded  wharf,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  "  daze"  the  so- 
bcrmiuded  countrj^-woman,  without  the  charge  of  little  Will, 
and  unnumbered  bundles,  and  the  two  "  daft  laddies  for- 
by."  On  their  j)art,  Noi-miin  and  Hany  sconied  the  idea  of 
being  taken  care  of,  and  loaded  with  baskets  and  other  mov- 
ables, made  their  way  through  the  crowd,  in  a  manner  that 
astonished  the  bewildered  Janet. 

"  Bide  awee,  Norman,  man.  Han-y,  you  daft-laddie,  where 
are  you  going?  Now  dimia  throw  awa'  good  pennies  for;?uch 
green  trash."  For  HaiTy  had  made  a  descent  on  a  fruit  stall, 
and  his  pockets  were  turned  inside  out  in  a  twinkling. 

'•  Saw  ever  anybody  such  cheatry,"  exclaimed  Janet,  as 
the  dark  lady  pocketed  the  coins  with  a  grin,  quite  unmind- 
ful of  her  expostulations.  "  Harry  lad,  a  fool  and  his  money 
is  soon  paiied.  And  look  !  see  here,  you  hae'  set  down  the 
basket  in  the  dubs,  and  your  sister's  bed  gowns  will  be  all 
wet.     Man !  hae  you  no  sense  ?" 

"  Nae  muckle,  I  doubt,  Janet,"  said  Harry,  with  an  exag- 
gerated gcstiu'c  of  humility  and  j)enitence,  turning  the 
basket  upside  do^vn,  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  mischief. 
"  It 's  awfu'  like  Scotch  dubs,  now  isn  't  it  ?  Never  mind,  I  '11 
give  it  a  wash  at  the  next  pump,  and  it  'ill  be  none  the  worse. 
Give  me  Will's  hand,  and  I  '11  take  care  of  him." 


I 


Janet's  lovk  and  skuvice. 


49 


en,  caj.'iy- 
ended  to 

im.     Her 

icica,   did 

it  sort  of 

bairna,  it 

3d,  fts  the 

1,  she  ex- 

L  the  last 

king  lad 
> 

from  her 
lo  of  the 
3"  the  so- 
ttle  WiU, 
:ldies  for- 
le  idea  of 
^hcr  mov- 
^ncr  that 

ie,  where 

forj^uch 

mit  stall, 

anet,  as 

unmind- 

is  money 

own  the 

1  be  all 

m  exag- 
ling  the 
nischief. 
ind,  I  'U 
le  worse. 


"Take  care  o'  yourself,  and  leave  WUl  with  mo.     But, 


thch" 


hac 


escort 

poarcd,  and  she  stood  alone,  with  the  baskets  and  th(!  boys 
in  the  rainy  street.  Before  her  consternation  had  reached  a 
cUniax,  however,  Ruthvcn  reappeared,  having  safely  bestowed 
the  others  in  their  lodgings.  Like  a  (hscrect  lad,  as  Janet 
was  incUned  to  consider  him,  he  possessed  himself  of  Will, 
and  some  of  the  bundles,  and  led  the  way.  At  the  door 
stood  the  girls,  anxiously  looking  out  for  them. 

If  their  hostess  had,  at  first,  some  doubt  as  to  the  sanity 
of  her  new  lodgers,  there  was  little  wonder.  Such  a  confusion 
of  ton;:^cs  her  American  ears  had  not  heard  before.  Graeme 
condoled  with  Will,  who  was  both  wet  and  weary.  Janet 
searched  for  missing  bundles,  and  bewailed  things  in  general. 
Marian  was  engaged  in  a  friendly  scuffle  for  an  apple,  and 
AUan  was  tossing  Rosio  up  to  the  ceihng,  while  Norman, 
perched  on  the  bamiistors  high  above  them  all,  waved  his  left 
hand,  bidchnfi^  farewell,  with  many  words,  to  an  imaginary 
Scotland,  wliilc  with  his  right  he  beckoned  to  the  "brave 
new  world"  which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  his  wonderful 
achievements  and  triumphs. 

The  next  day  rose  bright  and  beautiful.  Mr.  EUiott  had 
gone  to  stay  with  his  friend  Mr.  Caldwell,  and  Janet  was 
over  head  and  ears  in  a  general  "  sorting "  of  tilings,  and 
made  no  objections  when  it  was  proposed  that  the  boys  and 
Graeme  should  go  out  with  Allan  Ruthven  to  see  the  town. 
It  is  doubtful  whether  there  was  ever  so  much  of  Boston  seen 
in  one  day  before,  without  the  aid  of  a  carnage  and  pair*.  It 
was  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten  by  the  childi'en.  The  enjoy- 
ment was  not  quite  unmixed  to  Graeme,  for  she  was  in  con- 
stant fear  of  losing  some  of  them.  Harry  was  lost  sight  of 
for  awhile,  but  turned  up  agaui  with  a  chapter  of  adventures 
at  his  finger  ends  for  their  amusement. 

The  crowning  enjoyment  of  the  day  was  the  treat  p  ^t-^}  ,  by 

AUan  Ruthven  on  their  way  hoi>.e.     They  were  very  warm 

and  tired,  and  hungry  too,  and  the  low,  cool  room  down  some 

steps  into  which  they  were  taken,  was  delightful.    There  was 

3 


1^ 


60 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


i 

1*!. 
I-    .1 

V 

• 

■ 

i 
1      . 

novor  such  fniit — there  were  never  such  cukes  as  these  that 
were  set  before  them.  As  for  the  ice  cream,  it  was — inexpres- 
sible. In  describing  the  feast  afterwards,  Marian  could  never 
get  beyond  the  ice  cream.  She  was  always  at  a  loss  for  ad- 
jectives to  describe  it.  It  was  like  the  manna  that  the  Chil- 
dren of  Israel  had  in  the  wilderness,  she  thought,  and  surely 
they  ought  to  have  been  content  with  it. 

Graeme  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  enjoy  it  thoroughly. 
She  had  an  idea  that  there  were  not  very  many  guineo  •  left 
in  Allan's  purse,  and  she  felt  bound  to  remonstrate  wit  a 
because  of  his  extravagance. 

"  Never  mind,  Graeme,  dear,"  said  Jsorman  ;  "  Allan  winna 
ha^e  a  chance  to  treat  us  to  manna  this  while  again  ;  and 
when  I  am  Mayor  of  Boston,  I  '11  give  him  manna  and  nuails 
too." 

They  came  home  tired,  but  they  had  a  mcn*y  evening. 
Even  Graeme  "  unbent,"  as  Hany  said,  and  joined  in  the 
mirth ;  and  Janet  had  enough  to  do  to  reason  them  into 
quietness  when  bed-time  cai  ae. 

"  One  would  think  when  ]Mi\  AUan  is  going  away  in  the 
morning,  you  might  have  the  grace  to  seem  sorry,  and  le^  us 
have  a  while's  peace,"  said  she. 

If  the  night  was  meny,  the  morning  farewells  wei  ^  .  ^ 
indeed,  and  long,  long  did  they  w^ait  in  vain  for  tidings  of 
Allan  Ruthven. 


these  that 
— inexprcs- 
'oiUd  never 
loss  for  Jid- 
it  the  Chil- 
and  surely 

lioroughly. 
juiueo"  ^('it 
c  wit         -1 

Jlan  wimia 

igain  ;  and 

and  nuails 


•y  evening. 

Qcd  in  the 

them  into 

i,way  in  the 
and  le^  us 


s  wei  w      .  X 
tidings  of 


CHAPTER   VI. 

'  '  -p  UT  where 's  the  town  ?" 

Ij  The  bairns  were  standing  on  the  highest  step  of 
the  meeting-house,  gazing  with  eyes  full  of  wonder  and  de- 
liglit  on  the  scene  before  them.  The  meeting-house  stood  on 
a  high  hill,  and  beyond  a  wide  sloping  field  at  the  foot  of  tlio 
hill,  lay  Merlcville  pond,  like  a  mirror  in  a  frame  of  silver  and 
gold.  Beyond,  and  on  either  side,  were  hills  rising  behind 
hills,  the  most  distant  covered  with  great  forest  trees,  "  the 
trees  under  which  the  red  Indians  used  to  wander,"  Graeme 
whispered.  There  were- trees  on  the  nearer  hills  too,  sugaries, 
and  thick  jiine  groves,  and  a  circle  of  them  round  the  margin 
of  the  pond.  Over  all  the  great  Magicia  i  of  the  season  had 
waved  his  wand,  and  decked  them  in  colors  dazzling  to  the 
eyes  accustomed  to  the  gi*ey  rocks  and  purple  heather,  and 
to  the  russet  garb  of  autumn  in  their  native  land. 

There  were  farmhouses  too,  and  the  scattered  houses  aloii^' 
the  village  street  looking  white  and  fair  beneath  crimson 
maples  and  yellow  beech  trees.  Above  hung  a  sky  undini- 
med  by  a  single  cloud,  and  the  air  was  keen,  yet  mild  with 
the  October  sunshine.  They  could  not  have  had  a  loveher 
time  for  the  first  glimpse  of  their  new  home,  yet  there  was 
an  echo  of  disappointment  in  Harry's  voice  as  he  asked, 

"AVliere's  the  town?" 

They  had  been  gi'catly  impressed  by  the  description  given 
them  of  Merlcville  by  I\Ir.  Sampson  Snow,  in  whose  great 
wagon  they  had  been  conveyed  over  the  twenty  miles  of  coun- 
try' roads  that  lay  between  the  railway  and  there  new  home. 

"I  Avas  the  first  white  child  bom  in  the  town,"  said  Samp- 
son.    "  I  know  every  foot  of  it  as  well  as  I  do  my  own  bam, 

f51^ 


■""«*— ^  '"""•iiinwnriiiiiminnii 


52 


J A27 1: r  .s  L< ) \-  JO  A M )  s !•; li \- ic !•:. 


'Il' 


lit  ■!' 


and  I  don't  want  no  better  place  to  live  in  than  jlcrloville. 
It  don't  lack  but  a  fraction  of  bcin^^  ten  miles  scjuare,  lliglit 
in  the  centre,  perhaps  a  kd'c  south,  there  's  abo.it  the  pret- 
tiest i>>nd  you  ever  saw.  There  are  some  first-rate  farms 
there,  mine  is  one  of  them,  but  in  general  the  town  is  better 
calculated  for  pasturage  than  tillage.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
but  it  would  be  quite  a  manufactiu'ing  place  too  aflfr  a  spell,- 
when  they  've  used  up  all  the  other  water  privileges  in  the 
State.  There 's  quite  a  fall  in  the  ]Mcrlo  river,  just  before  it 
runs  into  the  pond.  AVe  've  got  a  fuUin'-mill  and  a  giist-mill 
on  it  now.     Tbcy  'd  think  everything  of  it  in  your  country. 

"  There 's  just  one  meetin '-house  in  it.  That 's  where  your 
pa  '11  preach  if  our  folks  conclude  to  hire  him  a  spell.  The 
land's  about  all  taken  up,  though  it  haint  reached  the  high- 
est pomt  of  cultivation  yet.  The  town  is  set  oil'  into  nine 
school-districts,  and  I  consider  that  our  privileges  are  first- 
rate.  And  if  it 's  nutting  and  squirrel-hunting  you  're  after, 
boys,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  apply 'to  Uncle  Sampson,  and 
he  '11  arrange  your  bu.smess  for  you." 

"  Ten  miles  square  and  nine  schocjl-districts ! "  Boston 
could  be  nothing  to  it,  sm*ely,  the  boys  thorght.  The  incon- 
sistency cf  talking  about  pasturage  and  tillage,  nutting  and 
squirrel-hnn;;ing  in  the  populous  place  which  thoy  imagined 
IVIcrlevillc  to  be,  did  not  strijre  them.  This  was  literally  their 
first  glimpse  of  Merlevillo,  for  the  rain  had  kept  them  within 
doors,  and  tho  mist  had  hidden  all  tlnngs  the  day  before,  and 
now  they  looked  a  little  anxiously  iov  the  city  they  had  pic- 
tured to  themselves. 

"  But  Norman !  Harry !  I  tlmilc  this  is  far  better  than  a 
town,"  said  Marian,  eagerly.  "Eh,  Graeme,  isna  yon  a 
bonny  water  V 

•'Ay,  it's  grand,"  said  Graeme.  "Norman,  this  is  far  bet- 
ter than  a  to'ATi." 

The  people  were  beginning  to  gather  to  service  by  this 
thuc  ;  but  the  cliilm-cn  ■\\ere  too  eager  and  too  \m'\y  to  he(>d 
them  for  a^^hilo.  With  an  interest  tliat  was  Jialf  wondcj-,  half 
delight.  Graeme  gazed  to  the  hills  and  tho  water  and  Iho 


JA-MET  8    I-OVK    AND    SERVICr. 


63 


lovely  H]yy.  It  mij^lit  lie  Ibo  "bouny  day" — the  luilcl  air  and 
tlic  snnsliine,  and  tlio  new  fixir  Hccno  before  bei",  or  it  might 
be  the  knowlcdj^^o  that  after  mueli  care,  and  many  perils,  they 
were  all  saf(!  toj>-(;lh('r  in  thi.s  qni(!t  place  where  they  were  to 
find  a  home  ;  she  Kcarco  knew  what  it  was,  but  her  heart  felt 
strangely  li^ht,  and  lips  and  eyes  smiled  as  she  fitood  there 
lioldin,!^  one  of  Marian's  hands  in  hers,  while  the  other  wan- 
dered throagh  the  cm-Is  of  Will's  golden  hau*.  She  did  r  ot 
speak  for  a  long  time  ;  but  the  otherc  were  not  so  quiet.,  but 
whispered  to  each  other,  and  pointed  out  tlic  objects  that 
pleased  them  most. 

"  Yon 's  Merle  ri\  er,  I  suppose,  where  we  sec  the  water 
glai.  ing  through  the  trees." 

"  And  yonder  is  the  kii'kyard,"  said  Marian,  gi'avely.  "  It 's 
no'  a  bomiy  place." 

"  It 's  bare  and  lonely-looking,"  said  Harry. 

"  They  should  have  yew  trees  and  ivy  and  a  high  wall,  like 
where  mamma  is,"  said  INIarian. 

"  But  this  is  a  new  coimtiy ;  things  arc  different  here," 
said  Norman. 

"  But  siu'cly  they  inight  have  trees." 

"  And  look,  there  are  cows  in  it.  The  gate  is  broken.  It 's 
a  pity." 

"Look  at  yon  road  that  goes  round  the  water,  and  then 
up  between  the  hills  through  the  wood.  That 's  bonny,  I  'm 
sm-c." 

"  And  there 's  a  white  house,  just  where  the  road  goes  out 
of  sight.     I  would  like  to  live  there." 

"  Yes,  there  arc  many  trees  about  it,  and  another  house 
on  this  side." 

And  so  they  talked  on,  till  a  famiUar  voice  accosted  them. 
Their  fiiend  Mr.  Snow  was  standing  beside  them,  holding  a 
pretty,  but  delicate  httle  girl,  ])y  the  hand.  He  had  been 
watching  them  for  some  time. 

"  Well  how  do  you  like  the  looks  of  tilings  ?  " 

"  It 's  bonny  here,"  said  Marian. 

"  "SMiero  's  the  town  ?  "  aslced  Harry,  promptly. 


64 


JANKT  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


'ISi, 


Mr,  Snow  made  a  motion  with  bis  head,  intended  to  indi- 
cate the  scene  before  them. 

"  Lacks  a  fraction  of  being  ten  miles  square." 

"  It 's  all  trees,"  said  little  WiU 

"  Wooden  country,  eh,  my  httle  man  ?  " 

*'  Country !  yes,  it 's  more  like  the  country  than  like  a 
town,"  said  Hany. 

"  Well,  yes.  On  this  side  of  the  water,  we  can  aflford  to 
have  our  towns,  as  big  as  some  folks*  countries,"  said  IMi*. 
Snow,  gravely. 

"  But  it 's  hke  no  tuwn  I  ever  saw,"  said  Norman.  "  Tliere 
are  no  streets,  no  shops,  no  market,  no  anything  that  makes 
a  town." 

"  There 's  freedom  on  them  hills,"  said  IMr.  Sno^  -^aving  his 
hand  with  an  air. 

During  the  journey  the  other  day,  l\Ir.  Snow  and  the  lads 
had  discussed  many  things  together  ;  among  the  rest,  the 
institutions  of  then'  respective  countries,  and  Mr.  Snow  had, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "  Set  tlieu'  British  blood  to  bilin,"  by  hints 
about  "  aristocracy,"  "  despotism,"  and  so  on.  "  He  never 
had  had  such  a  good  time,"  he  said,  afterwards.  They  were 
a  little  firey,  but  first-rate  smart  boys,  and  as  good  natui-ed 
as  kittens,  and  ho  meant  to  see  to  them.  He  meant  to 
amuse  himself  with  them  too,  it  seemed.  The  boys  fired  up 
at  once,  and  a  hot  answer  was  only  arrested  on  their  hps,  by 
the  timely  interference  of  Graeme. 

"  Whist,  Norman.  HaiTy,  mind  it  is  the  Sabbath-day,  and 
look  yonder  is  papa  coming  up  with  Judge  Merle,"  and  turn- 
ing smilingly  tc.  IVIr.  Snow,  she  added,  *'  We  hke  the  place 
very  much.  It 's  beautifid  everywhere.  It 's  far  bonnier 
thon  a  town.  I  'm  glad  there 's  no  town,  and  so  are  the  boys, 
though  they  were  disappointed  at  first." 

"  No  town  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Snow. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  explanations.  Their  father  had 
reached  the  steps,  and  the  childi'en  were  replying  to  the 
gi*eeting  of  the  Judge.  Judge  Merle,  was  in  the  opinion  of 
the  majority,  the  gi'eatesb  man  in  MerleviUe,  if  not  in  the 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


65 


d  to  indi- 


an  lite  a 

aflforcl  to 
said  lili-. 

"  Tliere 
lat  makes 


aving  his 


I  the  lads 
rest,  the 
Qow  had, 
'  by  hints 
le  never 
liey  were 
natui'ed 
iieant  to 
fired  up 
•  hps,  by 

clay,  and 
ad  tnm- 
le  place 
bonnier 
lie  boys, 


her  had 

to  the 

tiion  of 

i  in  the 


5- 


;5 


coimtrj'.  The  children  had  made  his  acquamtance  on  Satur- 
day. He  had  brought  them  with  his  own  hands,  thiough 
the  rain,  a  pail  of  sweet  milk,  and  another  of  hominy,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  gave  them  a  high  idea  of  liis  kindness  of 
heart,  but  which  sadly  overturned  aU  their  preconceived  no- 
tions with  regard  to  the  dignity  of  his  office.  Janet,  who  looked 
on  the  wh^Ij  thmg  as  a  proper  tribute  of  respect  to  the  min- 
ister, augiired  well  from  it,  what  he  might  expect  in  his  new 
parish,  and  congratulated  herself  accordingly.  The  children 
were  glad  to  see  him,  among  the  many  strangers  around 
them,  and  when  Mr,  Snow  gave  him  a  famihar  nod,  and  a, 
"  Morning  Judge,"  Graeme  felt  a  little  inclined  to  resent  the 
famiharity.  The  Judge  did  not  resent  it,  however.  On  the 
contrary,  when  jNlr.  Snow,  nodding  sideways  toward  the  min- 
ister, said,  "  He  guessed  tlje  folks  would  get  about  fitted  this 
time,"  he  nodded  as  familiarly  back,  and  said,  "  He  should  n't 
wonder  if  they  did." 

There  are  no  such  churches  built  in  New  England  now, 
as  that  into  which  the  minister  and  his  children  were  led  by 
the  Judge.  It  was  very  large  and  high,  and  full  of  windows. 
It  was  the  brilliant  light  that  stnick  the  children  first,  accus- 
tomed as  they  had  been  to  associate  with  the  Sabbath  wor- 
ship, the  dimness  of  their  father's  Httle  chapel  in  Clayton. 
Norman  the  mathematician  was  immediately  seized  with  a 
perverse  desire  to  count  the  panes,  and  scandalized  Graeme 
by  communicating  to  her  the  result  of  his  calculation,  just  as 
her  father  rose  up  to  begin. 

How  many  people  there  were  in  the  high  square  pews,  and 
in  the  galleries,  and  even  in  the  narrow  aisles.  So  many, 
that  Graeme  not  drcamuig  of  the  quiet  nooks  hidden  among 
the  hills  she  had  thought  so  beautiful,  wondered  where  they 
all  could  come  from.  Keen,  intelligent  faces,  many  of  them 
were,  that  turned  toward  the  minister  as  he  rose  ;  a  httle 
hard  and  fixed,  perhai)s,  those  of  the  men,  and  far  too  delicate, 
and  care-worn,  those  of  the  women,  but  earnest,  thoughtful 
faces,  many  of  them  were,  and  kindly  withal. 

Afterwards  —  years  and  yeai's  afterwards,  when  the  bairns 


ill 


; 

6G 


JANET  H   LOVE   A\D   SEKVICK. 


had  to  shut  their  eyes  to  recall  their  father's  face,  as  it  gleamed 
down  upon  them  from  that  strange  high  pulpit,  the  (jld  people, 
used  to  talk  to  them  of  this  first  sermon  in  Mcrlcville.  There 
was  a  charm  m  the  Scottish  accent,  and  in  the  earnest  manner 
of  the  minister,  which  won  upon  these  people  wonderfully.  It 
was  heart  speaking  to  heart,  an  earnest,  loving,  human 
heart,  that  had  sinned  and  had  been  forgiven,  that  had  suf- 
fered and  had  been  comforted  ;  one  who,  through  all,  had  by 
God's  gi'acc  struggled  upwards,  speaking  to  men  of  like  pas- 
sions and  necessities.  He  spoke  as  one  whom  God  had  given 
a  right  to  warn,  to  counsel,  to  console.  He  spoke  as  one 
who  must  give  account,  and  his  hearers  hstcned  earnestly. 
So  earnestly  that  Deacon  Fish  forgot  to  hear  for  Deacon 
Slowcome,  and  Deacon  Slowcome  forgot  to  hear  for  peoi)lo 
generally.  Deacon  Sterne  who  seklom  forgot  anythmg  which 
he  believed  to  be  his  duty,  failed  for  once  to  prove  the  ortho- 
doxy of  the  doctrine  by  comparuig  it  with  his  own,  and 
received  it  as  it  fell  from  the  minister  s  lips,  as  the  very  word 
of  God. 

"  He  means  just  as  he  says,"  said  Mr.  Snow  to  young 
Mr.  Greenleaf,  as  he  overtook  him  in  going  home  that  after- 
noon. "  He  was  n't  talldng  just  because  it  was  his  business 
to.  When  he  was  a  telling  us  what  mighty  things  the  grace 
of  God  can  do,  he  believed  it  Imnself,  I  guess." 

"  They  all  do,  don't  they  ?"  said  ^Ir.  Greenleaf. 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  know.  They  all  say  they  do.  But  there 's 
Deacon  Fish  now,"  said  IMi*.  Snow,  nodding  to  that  worthy, 
as  his  wagon  whuled  past,  "he  don't  begin  to  think  that 
grace  or  anything  else,  could  make  me  such  a  good  man  as 
he  is." 

]Mr.  Greenleaf  laughed. 

"  If  the  vote  of  the  town  was  taken,  I  guess  it  would  be 
decided  that  grace  would  n't  have  a  great  deal  co  do." 

"  Well,  the  town  would  make  a  mistake.  Deacon  Fish 
ain't  to  brag  of  for  goodness,  I  don't  think  ;  but  he  's  a  sight 
better  than  I  be.  But  see  here.  Squire,  don't  you  think  the 
new  minister  '11  about  fit?  " 


i  ji 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


67 


t  gleamed 
Id  people, 
le.  There 
;t  manner 
ffiiUy.  It 
<;,   human 

had  suf- 
U,  had  by 

like  pas- 
lad  given 
e  as  one 
iamostl}'. 
•  Deacon 
3r  peojile 
ng  which 
be  ortho- 
)wn,  and 
evy  word 

o  young 

lat  after- 

Dusinesa 

tie  grace 


there 's 
worthy, 
nk  that 
man  as 


Duld  be 

•n  Fish 
a  sight 
ink  the 


I 


t 


"He'll  fit  me,"  said  the  Squire.  "It  is  easy  to  see  that 
he  is  not  a  common  man.  But  he  won't  tit  the  folks  here,  or 
they  won't  tit  him.  It  would  be  too  good  luck  if  he  were  to 
stay  here." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  There  are  folks  enough 
in  the  town  that  know  what 's  good  when  they  hear  it,  and 
I  guess  they  '11  keep  him  if  they  can.  And  I  guess  he  '11 
stay.  He  seems  to  like  the  look  of  thmgs.  He  is  a  dreadfuJ 
mild-spoken  man,  and  I  guess  he  won't  want  much  in  the 
way  of  paj-.  I  guess  you  had  better  shell  out  some  yourself, 
Squire,     /mean  to." 

"You  are  a  rich  man,  IMr.  Snow.     You  can  afford  it." 

"  Come  now.  Squire,  that 's  good.  I  've  worked  harder 
for  every  dollar  I  've  got,  than  you  've  done  for  any  ten  you 
ever  earned." 

The  Squire  shook  his  head. 

"  You  don't  understand  my  kind  of  work,  or  you  would  n't 
say  so.  But  about  the  minister  ?  If  I  were  to  pledge  my- 
self to  any  amount  for  his  support,  I  should  feel  just  as 
though  I  were  in  a  measure  responsible  for  the  right  arrange- 
ment of  all  things  with  regard  to  his  salary,  and  the  paying 
of  it.  Anything  I  have  to  do  with,  I  want  to  have  go  right 
along  without  any  trouble,  and  unless  Merleville  folks  do 
differently  than  they  have  so  far,  it  won't  be  so  in  this 
matter." 

"  Yes,  I  should  n't  wonder  if  there  would  be  a  hitch  before 
long.  But  I  guess  you  'd  better  think  before  you  say  no.  I 
guess  it  '11  pay  in  the  long  rim." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Snow.  I  '11  take  your  advice  and  think 
of  it,"  said  ]Mr.  Greenleaf,  as  Sampson  stopped  at  his  own 
gate.     He  watched  him  going  up  the  hill. 

"  He  's  goin'  along  up  to  the  ^vidow  Jones'  now,  I  '11  bet. 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  was  a  goin'  to  lose  me  my  chance 
of  getting  her  place.  It  kind  o'  seems  as  though  I  ought  to 
have  it ;  it  fits  on  so  nice  to  mine.  And  they  say  old  Skin- 
flint is  going  to  foreclose  right  off.  I  '11  have  to  make  things 
fit  pretty  tight  this  winter ;  if  I  have  to  raise  the  cash.    But 


yaaK,i-Mu'musfU. 


58 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND    BEIIVICE. 


it  (loos  seem  as  if  I  ou^lit  to  bavo  it.  Maybo  it 's  Celestia 
tl.3  Squiro  wants,  and  not  the  farm." 

Ho  camo  back  to  close  tbo  gate  wbich,  in  bis  oarncstness, 
bo  bad  forgotten,  and  loaned  for  a  moment  over  it. 

"  Well,  now,  it  does  beat  all.  Hero  bavo  I  boon  forgetting 
all  abont  wbat  I  bavo  board  over  yonder  to  tbo  meeting- 
bouso.  Deacon  Sterno  need  n't  waste  no  more  words  to 
prove  total  depravity  to  me.  I  've  got  to  know  it  pretty  well 
by  tbis  time  ;  "  and,  with  a  sigb,  bo  turned  toward  tbo  bouso. 


'* 


M 


'4 


-5 


's  Celcstia 

irucstness, 

forgetting 
3  meeting- 
words  to 
)retty  well 
the  liouso. 


■■'■a 


CHAPTER     VII. 

THE  next  week  was  a  busy  one  to  all.  IVIr.  Elliott,  dur- 
ing- that  time  took  up  his  residence  at  Judge  Merle's, 
only  milking  daily  visits  to  the  little  brown  house  behind  the 
elms  where  Janet  and  the  bairns  were  putting  things  to 
rights.  There  was  a  gi'cat  deal  to  be  done,  but  it  was  lovely 
weather,  and  all  were  in  excellent  sjjirits,  and  each  did  some- 
thmg  to  help.  The  lads  broke  sticks  and  carried  water,  and 
Janet's  mannnoth  washing  was  accomplished  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  ;  and  before  the  week  was  over  the  little  brown 
house  began  to  look  like  a  home. 

A  gi-eat  deal  besides  was  accomplished  this  week.  It  was 
not  all  devoted  to  helping,  by  the  boys.  Norman  caught 
three  s(iuirrels  in  a  traji  of  his  own  invention,  and  Harry 
shot  as  many  with  Mr.  Snow's  wonderful  rifle.  Tliey  and 
Marian  had  made  the  circuit  of  the  pond,  over  rocks,  through 
bushes  and  brambles,  over  brooks,  or  through  them,  as  the 
case  might  be.  They  came  homo  tii'ed  enough,  and  in  a 
state  which  naturally  suggested  thoughts  of  another  mammoth 
washing,  but  in  high  spirits  with  their  trip,  only  regi-etting 
that  (iraeme  and  Janet  had  not  been  with  them.  It  was 
Saturday  night,  after  a  very  busy  week,  and  Janet  had  her 
o^vn  ideas  about  the  enjoyment  of  such  a  ramble,  and  was 
not  a  little  put  out  with  them  for  "  their  thoughtless  ruining 
of  theu'  clothes  and  shoon."  But  the  minister  had  come 
home,  and  there  was  but  a  thin  partition  between  the  room 
that  must  servo  him  for  study  and  parlor,  and  the  general 
room  for  the  family,  and  they  got  oif  with  a  slight  repri- 
mand, much  to  their  siu'prise  and  delight.  For  to  tell  the 
truth,  Janet's  patience  with  the  bairns,  exhaustless  in  most 

S9 


J 


-^ 


CO 


.tankt's  love  and  service. 


''I# 


circumstances,  was   wont  to  give  way  in  the  presence  of 
"torn  clothes  and  mined  shoon." 

The  next  week  was  hardly  so  successful.  It  was  cold  and 
rainy.  The  gold  and  crimson  glories  of  the  forest  chsappearcd 
in  a  night,  and  the  earth  looked  gloomy  and  sad  under  a 
leaden  sky.  The  inconveniences  of  the  httle  bro^vn  house 
became  more  apparent  now.  It  had  been  declared,  at  first 
sight,  the  veiy  worst  house  in  Merleville,  and  so  it  was,  even 
luider  a  clear  sky  and  brilliant  sunshine.  A  wi'ctched  place 
it  looked.  The  windows  clattered,  the  chimney  smoked, 
latches  and  hinges  were  defective,  and  there  were  a  score  of 
other  evils,  which  Janet  and  the  lads  strove  to  remedy  with- 
out vexing  their  father  and  Graeme.  A  very  poor  place  it 
was,  and  small  and  inconvenient  besides.  But  this  could 
not  be  cured,  and  therefore  must  be  endiu'cd.  The  house 
occupied  by  'Mr.  ElUott's  predecessor  had  been  bm*ned  down, 
and  the  Uttle  brown  house  was  the  only  unoccupied  house  iu 
the  village.  When  winter  should  be  over  something  might 
be  done  about  getting  another,  and  in  the  meantime  they 
must  make  the  best  of  it. 

Tlie  people  were  wonderfully  land.  One  man  came  to 
mend  windows  and  doors,  another  to  mend  the  chimney. 
On'in  Grean  spent  two  days  in  banking  up  the  house. 
Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome  sent  their  men  to  biing  up 
wood  ;  and  apples  and  chickens,  and  pieces  of  beef  were  sent 
in  by  some  of  the  village  people. 

There  were  sone  drawbacks.  The  wood  was  green,  and 
made  more  smoke  than  heat ;  and  Janet  mortally  offended 
Mr.  Green  by  giving  him  his  dinner  alone  in  the  kitchen. 
Every  latch  and  hinge,  and  pane  of  glass,  and  the  diiving  of 
every  nail,  was  charged  and  deducted  from  the  half  year's 
salary,  at  prices  which  made  Janet's  indignation  overflow. 
This  latter  circumstance  was  not  known,  however,  till  the  half 
year  was  done  ;  and  in  the  meantime  it  helped  them  all 
through  this  di'eaiy  time  to  find  tlibu'  new  friends  so  kind. 

In  the  course  of  time,  things  were  put  to  rights,  and  the 
little  bare  place  began   to  look  wonderfully  comfortable. 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


61 


rcscncG  of 

s  cold  and 
isappoarcd 
d  under  a 
n\n  house 
ed,  at  first 
was,  even 
ilicd  place 
7  smoked, 
I  score  of 
aedy  ^^'itl^ 
r  place  it 
this  could 
riie  house 
led  down, 
1  house  in 
:ng  might 
time  they 

came  to 
chimney, 
le  house, 
aiing  up 
ivere  sent 

•een,  and 

offended 

kitchen. 

riving  of 

if  year's 

overflow. 

the  half 

;liem  all 

kind. 

and  the 

fortablo. 


1 


■:^ 


With  waiTn  oarioets  on  the  floors,  and  warm  curtains  on  the 
windows,  with  stools  and  sofas,  and  tables  made  out  of  pack- 
ing boxes,  disguised  m  various  ways,  it  began  to  have  a  look 
.of  homo  to  them  all. 

The  ruin  and  the  clouds  passed  away,  too,  and  the  last 
part  of  Novcniljor  was  a  long  and  lovely  Lidian  smumer. 
Then  the  explorations  of  the  boys  were  renewed  with  dchght. 
Graeme  and  Rosio  and  "Will  went  with  the  rest,  and  (jven 
Janet  was  beguiled  into  a  nutting  excursion  one  afternoon. 
She  enjoyed  it,  too,  and  voluntarily  confessed  it.  It  was  a 
fair  view  to  look  over  the  pond  and  the  village  Ijing  so 
quietly  in  the  valley,  with  the  ku'k  looking  down  upon  it 
fi'om  above.  It  was  a  ^'»^e  country,  nobody  could  deny  ;  but 
Janet's  03-03  were  sad  Cijugh  as  she  gazed,  and  her  voice 
shook  as  she  said  it,  for  the  thought  of  home  was  strong  at 
her  heart. 

In  this  month  they  made  themselves  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  gcogi-aphy  of  the  place,  and  with  the  kindly  in- 
mates of  many  a  farm-house  besides.  And  a  happy  month 
it  was  for  them  all.  One  night  they  watched  the  sim  set 
between  red  and  wavering  clouds,  and  the  next  day  woke  to 
beliold  "  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  snow."  Far  away 
to  the  highest  hill-top  ;  down  to  the  very  verge  of  pond  and 
brook  ;  on  every  bush,  and  tree,  and  knoll,  and  over  every 
silent  valley,  lay  the  white  gannent  of  whiter.  How  strange ! 
how  wonderful !  it  seemed  to  their  unaccustomed  eyes. 

"  It  'minds  me  of  white  gi-ave-clothes,"  said  Marian,  with  a 
shudder. 

"Whist,  Menie,"  said  her  sister.  "It  makes  me  tlmik 
of  how  full  the  air  will  be  of  bonnie  white  angels  at  the 
rosm-rection-day.  Just  watch  the  flakes  floating  so  (luietly  in 
the  ah." 

"  But,  Graeme,  the  angels  will  be  going  up,  and " 

"  Well,  one  can  hardly  tell  by  looking  at  them,  whether  the 
snow-flakes  are  coming  down  or  going  up,  they  float  about 
so  silently.  They  mind  me  of  beautiful  and  peaceful 
things." 


■■i 


62 


JANKT  fci    LOVI-:   AND   8EKVICE. 


m 


"  Bat,  Graeme,  it  looks  cold  and  dreary,  and  all  the  bonnie 
flowers  are  covered  in  the  dark." 

"  Meiiie  !  There  are  no  llowers  to  be  covered  now,  and 
the  earth  is  weary  ■vsith  her  summer  work,  and  will  rest  and 
sleep  midor  the  bonnie  Avhitc  snow.  And,  dear,  you  mustna 
think  of  (h'eary  things  when  you  look  out  upon  the  snow, 
for  it  will  bo  a  long  time  before  we  see  the  green  gi'ass  and 
the  bonnie  flowers  again,"  and  Graeme  sighed. 

Bat  it  was  with  a  shout  of  delight  that  the  boyp  plunged 
headlong  into  it,  rolling  and  tumbling  and  tossmg  it  at 
one  aftiother  in  a  way  that  was  "  perfect  niuiation  to  their 
clothes  ; "  and  yet  Janet  had  not  the  heart  to  forbid  it.  It 
was  a  holiday  of  a  new  kind  to  them  ;  and  their  enjoyment 
was  crowned  and  completed  when,  in  the  afternoon,  Mr. 
Snow  came  down  with  his  box-sleigh  and  his  two  handsome 
gr(.'ys  to  givc  them  a  sleigh-ride.  There  was  room  for  them 
all,  and  for  Mr.  Snow's  little  Emily,  and  for  half  a  dozen 
besides  had  they  been  there  ;  so,  well  wrai)ped  up  with 
blankets  and  buffalo-robes,  away  they  went.  Was  there  ever 
anything  so  dclightfid,  so  exhilarating?  Even  Graeme 
laughed  and  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  greys  flew  over  the 
ground,  and  passed  every  sleigh  and  sledge  on  the  road. 

"  The  bonnie  creatui'es  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  Mr.  Snow, 
who  loved  his  gi'eys,  and  was  proud  of  them,  took  the  oft- 
rei:)eated  exclamation  as  a  comphment  to  himself,  and  di-ovo 
in  a  way  to  show  his  favorites  to  the  best  advantage.  Away 
they  went,  up  liiU  and  nown,  thi'ough  the  village  and  over 
the  bridge,  past  the  mill  to  the  woods,  wliere  the  tall  hem- 
locks and  cedars  stood  dressed  in  wliite  "like  brides."  Marian 
had  no  thought  of  sorrowful  things  in  her  heart  vny:.  They 
came  home  again  the  other  way,  past  Judge  Merle's  and  the 
school-house,  singing  and  laughing  in  a  Vv-ay  that  made  the 
sober-minded  boys  and  girls  of  Merlevillo,  to  whom  sleigli-rid- 
ing  was  no  novelty,  turn  roimd  in  astonishment  as  they  passed. 
The  people  in  the  store,  and  the  people  in  the  blacksmith's 
shop,  and  even  the  old  ladies  in  their  warm  kitchens,  opened 
the  door  and  looked  out  to  see  the  cause  of  the  pleasant  up- 


janet'i3  love  and  service. 


C3 


the  bonnie 

[  now,  and 

I  rest  and 
)ii  mustna 
the  snow, 
grass  and 

'F  plnnjiTed 
ing  it   at 

II  to  their 
bid  it.  It 
injoymcnt 
loou,  Mr. 
lumdsomo 

for  them 

f  a  dozen 

up  with 

here  ever 

Graeme 

over  the 

oad. 

h\  Snow, 

the  oft- 

nd  drove 

Away 

md  over 

tall  hcni- 

Mrtrian 

.    Tliey 

and  the 

ulo  the 

eig-li-rid- 

•  passed. 

ismith's 

opened 

sant  np- 


■i 


I 


roar.  All  wore  meiTy,  and  all  gave  voice  to  their  mirth  except 
Mr.  Snow's  little  Emily,  and  she  was  too  full  of  astonishment 
at  the  others  to  think  of  saying  anything  herself.  But  none 
of  them  enjoyed  the  ride  more  than  she,  though  it  was  not 
her  fii'st  bv  manv.  None  of  them  all  remem])ered  it  so  well, 
or  spoke  of  it  so  often.  It  was  the  beginning  of  sleigh-rid- 
ing to  them,  but  it  v  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  to  httle 
Emily. 

"  Isna  she  a  queer  little  creature  ?  "  whispered  Harry  to 
Graeme,  as  her  great  black  eyes  tmnied  fi'om  one  to  another 
full  of  grave  wonder. 

"  She  's  a  bonnie  httle  creature,"  said  Graeme,  caressing 
the  httle  hand  that  had  found  its  way  to  hers,  "  and  good, 
too,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Grandma  don't  think  so,"  said  the  child,  gi'avcly. 

"  No  ! "  exclaimed  Hany.     "  What  bad  things  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  drop  stitches  and  look  out  of  the  window,  and  I  hate 
to  pick  over  beans." 

HaiTv  whistled. 

•*  What  an  awful  wee  sinner !  And  does  your  gi'andma 
punish  you  ever  ?     Does  she  whij)  you  ?  " 

Tlie  child's  black  eyes  flashed. 

"  She  dare  n't.  Father  would  n't  let  her.  She  gives  me 
stints,  and  sends  me  to  bed." 

"  The  Tm-k ! "  exclaimed  Hany.  "  Run  away  from  her, 
and  come  and  bide  with  us." 

"Hush,  HariT,"  said  Graeme,  softly,  "gi-andma  is  Mr. 
Snow's  mother." 

There  was  a  pause.  Li  a  httle  Emily  spoke  for  the  fii'st 
time  of  her  own  accord. 

"  There  are  no  chilth-en  at  oiu'  house,"  said  she. 

"  Poor  wee  lammie,  and  you  are  lonely  sometimes,"  said 
Graeme. 

"  Yes  ;  when  father 's  gone  and  mother 's  sick.  Then 
there's  nobody  but  gi-andma." 

"  Have  you  a  doll  ?  "  asked  Menie. 

"  No  :  I  have  a  kitten,  though." 


64 


JANKTS    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


#' 


II 


t     I 

i      I. 


"  All !  you  must  eonio  and  jilay  with  iny  doll.  She  is  a 
perfect  l)eauty,  and  her  naino  is  Flora  ^Macdoimld." 

jMcnio's  doll  had  become  much  more  valuable  iu  her  esti- 
mation since  she  had  created  such  a  sensation  among  tho 
little  Merlcville  girls. 

'*  Will  you  come  ?  Mr.  Snow',"  she  said,  cUmbing  upon  tho 
front  seat  which  Norman  shared  with  the  driver,  "  won't 
you  let  your  little  girl  como  and  sec  my  doll  ?  " 

"Well,  yes;  I  guess  so.  If  she's  half  as  pretty  as  you 
are,  she  is  well  worth  seeing." 

Menie  was  down  again  in  a  minute. 

"  Yes,  you  may  come,  he  says.  And  bring  your  kitten, 
and  we  '11  play  all  day.  Graeme  lets  us,  and  doesna  send  us 
to  bed.     AVill  you  like  to  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  quickly,  but  as  gravely  as  ever. 

They  stopped  at  the  little  brown  house  at  last,  with  a 
shout  that  brought  theii'  father  and  Janet  out  to  see.  All 
sprang  hghtly  down.    Little  Emily  staid  alone  in  the  sleigh. 

"  Is  this  your  little  girl,  Mr.  Snow  ?  "  said  IVIr.  EUiott,  tak- 
ing the  child's  hand  in  his.  Emily  looked  in  his  face  as 
gi'avely  and  quietly  as  she  had  been  looking  at  tho  children 
all  the  afternoon. 

"  Yes  ;  she 's  your  Marian's  ago,  and  looks  a  little  like  her, 
too.     Don't  you  think  so  Mrs.  Nasmyth  ?  " 

Janet,  thus  appealed  to,  looked  .kindly  at  the  child. 

"  She  might,  if  she  hn.d  any  flesh  on  her  bones,"  said  she. 
"  "Well,  she  don't  look  ragged,  that 's  a  fact,"  said  her  father. 

The  cold,  which  had  brought  the  roses  to  the  cheeks  of 
tlio  little  Elliotts,  had  given  Emily  a  blue,  pinched  look, 
which  it  made  her  father's  heart  ache  to  see. 

"  Tho  bairn 's  cold.  Let  her  como  in  and  wai-m  herself," 
said  Janet,  promptly.  There  was  a  chorus  of  entreaties 
from  tho  children. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  wait.  My  horst  q  dtfi't 
like  to  stand  much,"  said  Mr.  Snow. 

"  Never  mind  waiting.  If  it 's  too  far  for  us  .  :ike  hor 
home,  you  can  como  down  for  her  in  the  evening." 


JANETS    LoVi:    AND    SKRVICI! 


05 


She  is  a 

in  Lor  csti- 
inioiig  tho 

;  upf)n  tho 
r,    "  won't 

by  as  yon 


•ur  kitten, 
a  send  us 

ever. 

st,  with  a 
see.  All 
the  sleigh. 
llUott,  tak- 
is  face  as 
5  children 

i  like  her, 

d. 

said  she. 
r  father. 
:;heeks  of 
led  look, 

herself," 
mtreaties 

^  r,  .n't 
take  hrr 


4 
■4 


Emily  looked  at  her  father  wistfully. 

'•  Wcnild  you  like  to  stay,  dear  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Yes,  sir."  And  she  wus  lifted  out  of  the  sleigh  by  Janet, 
and  curried  uito  the  house,  and  Idssed  before  she  was  set 
down. 

"  1 11  be  along  down  after  dark,  sonietimo,"  said  ]Mr.  Snow, 
as  he  drove  away. 

Little  Eiuilv  had  never  heard  so  much  noise,  at  least  so 
much  pleasant  noise,  before.  Mr.  Elliott  sat  down  beside  the 
bright  wood  lire  in  the  kitchen,  with  Marian  on  one  knee 
and  the  little  stranger  on  tho  other,  and  listened  to  the 
exclamations  of  one  and  all  about  the  sleigh  ride. 

"  And  hae  you  nothing  to  say,  niy  bonnie  wee  lassie  ?  "  said 
he  pusliing  back  tho  soft,  brown  haii'  from  the  little  grave 
face.     "  A\'hat  is  yoiu*  name,  little  one  ?  " 

"Emily  Snow  Arnold,"  answered  she,  promptly. 

"  Emily  Ai'uold  Snow,"  said  wienie,  laughing. 

"  No  ;  Emily  Snow  Arnold.  Grandma  says  I  am  not 
father's  own  little  girl.-    INIy  father  is  dead." 

She  looked  grave,  and  so  did  the  rest. 

"  But  it  is  just  the  same.     He  loves  you." 

"  O,  yes  !  "     There  was  a  bright  look  in  the  eyes  for  once. 

"And  you  love  him  all  the  same  ?  " 

"  0,  yes." 

So  it  was.  Sampson  Snow,  with  love  enough  in  his  heart 
for  half  a  dozen  children,  had  none  of  his  own,  and  it  was 
all  lavished  on  tliis  child  of  his  wife,  and  she  loved  him 
dearly.  But  they  chd  not  have  "good  tunes"  up  at  their 
house  the  little  girl  confided  to  Graeme. 

"  Mother  is  sick  most  of  the  time,  and  grandma  is  cross 
always  ;  and,  if  it  was  n't  for  father,  I  don't  know  what  wo 
should  do." 

Lidced,  they  did  not  have  good  times.  Old  IMi-s.  Snow 
had  always  been  strong  and  healthy,  altogether  unconscious 
of  "  nei-ves,"  and  she  could  have  no  sympathy  and  veiy  httlo 
pity  for  his  son's  sickly  wife.  She  had  never  liked  her,  even 
when  she  was  a  gu-1,  and  her  gu-lhood  was  past,  and  she  had 


66 


JANRT  8    /.OVE   AXI>   SEiiVICE. 


been  a  sorrowful  »vidow  before  her  sou  brought  her  home  as 
his  wife.  80  old  Mrs.  Sn(;\v  kept  her  place  at  the  head  of  the 
household,  and  was  hard  on  everybody,  but  more  especially 
on  her  son's  wi[e  aud  her  little  girl.  If  there  had  been  chil- 
<h-en,  siio  might  have  been  dili'erent ;  but  slic  almost  resented 
her  son's  warm  affection  for  his  Httle  step-daughter.  At  any 
rnte  slie  Wiis  determined  that  little  Emily  should  bo  brought 
up  as  children  used  to  be  brought  up  when  she  was  young, 
and  not  spoiled  by  over- indulgence  as  her  mother  had  been  ; 
and  the  process  was  not  a  pleasant  one  to  any  of  them,  and 
"  good  times  "  were  few  and  fur  betv/oen  at  their  house. 

Her  acquaintance  with  the  minister's  childi'en  was  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  hfe  to  EmUy.  Her  father  opened  his  eyes 
with  astonishment  when  he  came  into  Janet's  bright  kitchen 
that  night  and  heard  his  little  girl  laughing  and  clapjnng  her 
hands  us  merrily  as  any  of  them.  If  anything  had  been 
needed  to  deepen  his  interest  m  them  all,  their  kindness  to 
the  child  would  have  done  it ;  and  from  that  day  the  minister 
and  his  childi-en,  and  Mrs,  Nasmjiih,  too,  had  a  finn  and 
trae  friend  in  IMr.  Snow. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


17^ ROM  the  time  of  their  an-ival,  the  minister  and  his  family 
I  excited  gi'eat  curiosity  and  interest  among  the  good 
people  of  Merle^'ille.  The  minister  himself,  as  Mr.  Snow 
told  Mrs.  Nasnn^h,  was  "  popnlar."  Not,  however,  that  any 
one  among  them  all  thought  him  faultless,  unless  Mr.  Snow 
himself  tlid.  Every  old  lady  in  the  tow.o  saw  something  in 
him,  which  she  not  secretly  deplored.  Indeed,  they  were 
more  unanimous,  with  regard  to  the  minister's  faults,  than 
old  ladies  generally  arc  on  important  sabjoots.  Tlio  matter 
was  dispassionately  discussed  at  several  successive  sewing- 
circles,  and  when  ]\Irs.  Page,  summing  up  the  evidence,  sol- 
emnly declared,  "  that  though  the  minipter  was  a  good 
man,  and  a  good  prercher,  he  lacked  considerable  in  some 
thuigs  which  go  to  make  a  man  a  good  pastor,"  tl^ere  was 
scarcely  a  dissenting  voice. 

Mrs.  Merle  had  ventured  to  hint,  that,  "  they  could  not  ex- 
pect cveiything  in  one  man,"  but  her  voice  wont  for  nothing, 
as  one  of  the  minister's  offences  was,  havmg  been  several 
times  in  at  the  Judge's,  while  he  smfuUy  neglected  others  of 
his  flock. 

"  It 's  handy  by,"  ventm*ed  Mrs.  Merle,  again.  But  the 
Judge's  wife  was  no  match  for  the  blacksmith's  lady,  and  it 
was  agi'ecd  by  all,  thot  whatever  else  the  minister  might  be, 
he  was  "  no  hand  at  visiting."  True  he  had  divided  the 
town  into  districts,  for  the  purpose  of  regularly  meeting  the 
people,  and  it  was  his  custom  to  announce  from  the  pulpit, 
the  neighborhood  in  which,  on  certain  days,  he  miglit  be  ex- 
pected. But  that  of  course,  was  a  formal  matter,  and  not  ab 
all  like  the  affectionate  intercourse  that  ought  to  exist  be- 

(67) 


jani:t  s  i.ovi:  and  .«KEVicr. 


twcen  a  pnstor  and  his  people.  "  Ho  miji^ht  preach  like 
Paul,"  said  ^Ivh.  Viv^o,  "  l)ut  unless  on  week  days  ho  water- 
ed the  seed  sown,  with  a  word  in  season,  the  haiTest  would 
never  be  ^fathered  in.  The  minister's  face  ou,L;lit  to  bo  a  fa- 
miliar si^ht  in  every  houseliolil,  or  the  youth  would  never 
be  brou^fht  into  the  fold,"  and  the  lady  si^-hed,  at  the  case  of 
the  youth,  scattered  over  the  ten  miles  square  of  Merleville. 
The  minister  was  not  sinninj^  m  ignorance  cither,  for  she 
herself,  had  told  him  his  duty  in  this  respect. 

"  And  what  did  ho  say  ?"  asked  some  one. 

"  Oh  !  -ho  did  n't  say  much,  but  I  could  see  that  his  con- 
Bcicnce  was  n't  easy.  However,  there  Las  been  no  imjirove- 
ment  yet,"  she  added,  with  grave  severity. 

"  He  hahi't  got  a  horse,  and  I  'vo  heard  say,  that  deacon 
Fish  charges  him  six  cents  a  mile  f(n'  his  horse  and  cutter, 
whenever  he  has  it.  He  couldn't  alibrd  to  ride  roiTr^d  nuK.'h 
at  that  rate,  on  live  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

Tliis  bold  speech  was  ventured  by  Miss  Rebecca  Pettimore, 
l\L's.  Captain  Liscome's  help,  who  took  turns  with  that  lady, 
in  atteiuhng  the  sewing-circ'le.  But  it  was  well  known,  that 
she  was  always  "  on  the  off  side,"  and  ]Mrs.  Page  deigned  no 
reply.     There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Eli  heard  Mr.  Snow  say  so,  in  Page's  shop  yesterday," 
added  Hebecca,  who  always  gave  her  authority,  when  she  re- 
peated an  item  of  news.     ]\Irs.  Fish,  took  her  up  shar])ly. 

"  Sampson  Snow  had  better  let  the  minister  have  his 
horse  and  cutter,  if  he  can  afford  to  do  it,  for  nothing.  jMi\ 
Fish  can't." 

"  !My  goodness.  Mis'  Fish,  I  would  n't  have  said  a  W(jrd, 
if  I'd  thought  you  were  here,"  said  Pebecca,  with  an  embar- 
rassed laugh. 

"  ]\[r.  Snow  often  drives  the  minister,  and  thinks  himself 
well  ])aid,  just  to  have  a  talk  with  him,"  said  a  pretty  black- 
eyed  girl,  trying  to  cover  llebecca's  retreat.  But  Pobecea 
woul<l  n't  retreat. 

"I  didn't  mean  any  oft'ence,  Mis'  Fish,  and  if  it  ain't  so 
about  the  deacon,  you  can  say  so  now,  before  it  goes  further." 


;     ) 


jA>:i;Tri  LovK  and  skkvick. 


GO 


: 


But  it  was  not  to  lie  contradicted,  and  that  Mrs.  Fish  woll 
knew,  thouf^h  what  business  it  was  of  anybody's,  and  wliy  tlio 
minister,  who  seemed  to  bo  woll  oil',  should  n"t  pay  for  the  uso 
of  a  horse  and  cutter,  she  couldn't  luiderstand.  The  subject 
Avas  changed  by  Mrs.  Slowcome. 

"  He  nnist  have  piles  and  piles  of  old  sermons.  It  don't 
seem  as  thouj^li  he  iieods  to  spend  as  much  time  in  his  study, 
us  Mrs.  Nasmyth  tells  about." 

Hero  there  was  a  nuiruuu*  of  dissent.  "Would  sermons 
made  for  the  British,  be  such  as  to  suit  free-born  American 
citizens?  the  children  of  the  Puritans'?  The  prevailing  feel- 
ing was  against  such  a  supposition. 

"  Old  or  new,  I  lilce  them,"  said  C(>lestia  Jones,  the  pretty 
black-eyed  gii-l,  who  had  spoken  before.  "  And  so  do  others, 
who  are  better  judges  than  I." 

"  Squire  GrceiJeaf,  I  suppose,"  said  Ruby  Fox,  in  a  loud 
whisper.  "  He  was  up  tliere  last  Sunday  night  ;  she  has  Ijccu 
acliing  to  tell  it  all  the  afternoon." 

Celestia's  black  eyes  Hashed  fire  at  the  speaker,  and  the  sly 
Buby  said  no  more.  Indeed,  there  was  no  more  said  about 
the  sermons,  for  tliat  the}'  were  something  for  the  I\Ierlevillo 
people  to  bo  proud  of,  all  agreed.  Mr.  Elliott's  preaching 
had  +lUed  the  old  meeting-hou.se.  Peoi)le  who  had  never 
been  regular  churchgoers  came  now  ;  some  from  out  of  tho 
town,  even.  Young  Scpiire  Ch'ecnleaf,  wIkj  seemed  to  have  tho 
prospect  of  succeethng  Judge  IMerle,  as  the  great  man  of 
Merleville,  had  brought  over  the  judges  from  llixtbrd,  and 
th(\v  had  (Uned  at  tho  minister's,  and  had  come  to  church  on 
Sunday.  Young  Squire  Greenleaf  was  a  triumph  of  himself. 
He  had  never  been  at  meeting  "much,  if  any,"  shice  h(>  had 
completed  his  legal  studies.  If  he  ever  did  go,  it  was  to  the 
Episcopal  church  at  Bixford,  which,  (o  the  lil)eral  ]\[rs.  Page, 
looked  considerably  like  co(|uetting  with  the  scarlet  Avoman. 
Jsow,  he  hardly  ever  lost  a  Sunday,  besides  going  sometimes 
to  conference  meetuigs,  and  making  frequent  visits  to  the 
minister's  house.  Having  put  all  these  things  togetiu'r,  and 
considered  the  matter,  Mrs.  Page  came  to  tho  cvMiclusion, 


I 


fi  ( 


'  i' 


I 


i 


V  I 


70 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


that  the  squire  was  not  in  so  hopeless  a  condition  as  she  had 
been  wont  to  sui)pose,  a  fact,  which  on  this  occasion,  she  took 
the  opportunity  of  rejoicing  over.  The  rest  rejoiced  too. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  dissent  from  Miss  Pettimore,  but  it 
passed  unnoticed,  as  usual.  There  was  a  gleam  whicli  look- 
ed a  little  like  scorn,  in  the  black  eyes  of  Miss  Cclestia,  which 
said  more  plauily  than  IMiss  Pettimore's  words  could  have 
done,  that  the  squire  was  better  now,  than  the  most  in 
Mcrlevillo,  but  like  a  wise  young  person  as  she  was,  she  ex- 
pended all  her  scornf liI  glances  on  the  shirt  sleeve  she  was 
making,  and  said  nothing. 

The  minister  was  then  allowed  to  rest  a  little  while,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  family  were  discussed,  with  equal  in- 
terest. Upon  the  whole,  the  conclusion  arrived  at  was  pretty 
favorable.  But  Mrs.  Page  and  hor  friends  were  not  quite 
satisfied  with  Graeme.  As  the  muiister's  eldest  daughter, 
and  "  serious,"  they  were  disposed  to  overlook  her  youthful- 
ness,  and  give  her  a  prominent  place  in  their  cii'cle.  But 
Graeme  hung  back,  and  would  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  take 
such  honor  to  herself,  and  so  some  said  she  was  proud,  and 
some  said  she  was  only  shy.  But  she  was  kindly  dealt  with, 
even  by  IMi's.  Page,  for  her  loving  care  of  the  rest  of  the  chil- 
di'en,  had  won  for  her  the  love  of  many  a  motherly  heart 
among  these  kind  people.  And  she  was  after  all  but  a  child, 
little  more  than  fifteen. 

There  were  numberless  stories  afloat  about  the  boys, — their 
mu'th,  their  mischief,  their  good  scholarshij),  their  respect 
and  obedience  to  then*  father,  A^'hich  it  was  not  beneath  the 
dignity  of  the  ladies  assembled  to  repeat  and  distaLss.  The 
boys  had  visited  faithfully  through  the  parish,  if  their  father 
had  not,  and  almost  everywhere  they  had  won  for  them- 
selves a  welcome.  It  is  tnie,  there  had  been  one  or  two 
rather  serious  scrapes,  in  which  they  had  involved  themselves, 
and  other  lads  of  tlie  village  ;  but  kind-hearted  people  forgot 
the  mischief  sooner  than  the  mu'th,  and  Norman  and  Harry 
were  very  popular  among  old  and  young. 

But  the  wonder  of  wonders,  the  riddle  that  none  could 


^: 


JA>*ET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


n 


read,  i,lio  anomaly  in  Merlevillc  society  was  Janet,  or  IVIrs. 
Nasmyth,  as  she  was  generally  called.  In  refusing  one  of  the 
many  invitations  wliich  she  had  shared  with  the  minister  and 
Graeme,  she  had  thought  fit  to  give  society  in  general  a  piece 
of  her  mind.  She  was,  she  said,  the  minister's  servant,  and 
kenned  her  place  better  than  to  offer  to  take  her  tea  with  him 
in  any  strango  house  ;  she  was  obUged  for  tha  invitation  all 
the  same. 

"  Servant !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Sterne's  help,  who  was  staymg  to 
pass  the  evening,  while  her  mistress  went  home  "  to  see  about 
sujoper." 

And,  "  sen'ant !  "  echoed  the  young  lady  who  assisted  Mrs. 
Merle  in  her  household  affaii's. 

"  I  '11  let  them  see  that  I  think  myself  just  as  good  as 
Queen  Victoria,  if  I  do  hve  out,"  said  another  dignified  aux- 
iliary. 

"  She  must  be  a  di'eadful  mean-spirited  creatra-e." 

"  Why,  they  do  say  she  '11  brush  them  great  boys'  shoes. 
I  saw  her  myself,  through  the  study  door,  pull  off  jMr.  Elliott's 
boots  a^j  humble  as  could  be." 

"  To  see  that  httle  girl  pouring  tea  when  there 's  company, 
and  Mrs.  Nasmyth  not  sitting  down.     It  '^ridiculous." 

"  I  would  n't  do  so  for  the  President !  " 

'•  Well,  they  seem  to  think  everything  of  her,"  sai(i  Miss 
Pettimore,  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  this  connection. 

"  Why,  yes,  she  does  just  what  she  has  a  mind  to  about 
house.  And  the  way  them  children  hang  about  her,  and  fuss 
over  her,  I  never  see.  They  teU  her  everything,  and  lIicsg 
boys  mind  her,  as  they  do  their  father." 

"  And  if  any  one  comes  to  pay  his  minister's  tax,  it 's 
always,  'ask  Mrs.  Nasmyth,'  or,  *jMrs.  Nasra>'th  will  tell 
you.' " 

"  They  could  n't  get  along  witliout  her.  If  I  was  her  I  'd 
show  them  that  I  was  as  good  as  them,  and  no  servant." 

"  She 's  used,  to  it.  She  's  been  brought  up  so.  But  now 
that  she  'h  go:,  here,  I  should  thmk  she  'd  be  sick  of  it." 

•'  I  sjippcsc  'servant '  there,  means  pretty  much  what '  help' 


) 


i      ; 


(i 


*n    1 


72 


janj:t's  Lovi;  and  sekvice. 


n 


does  hero.     There  don't  seem  to  be  difference  enough  to  talk 
about,"  said  llcbeeca. 

*'  I  see  considcrabio  difierence,"  said  IMrs.  Merle's  young 
lady. 

"It  beats  all,"  said  another. 

YcH,  it  did  l)cat  all.  It  was  incomprehensible  to  these 
di^niiied  people,  how  Janet  could  openly  acknowledge  herself 
a  servant,  and  yet  retam  her  self-respect.  And  that  "  Mrs. 
Nasmyth  thought  considerable  of  herself,"  many  of  the  cui'ious 
ladies  of  Merlcville  had  occasion  to  know.  The  relations  ex- 
isting between  her  and  "the  bairns,"  could  not  easily  be 
understood.  She  acknowledged  herself  theii'  servant,  yet  she 
reproved  them  when  they  deserved  it,  and  that  shai-ply.  She 
enforced  obedience  to  all  rules,  and  governed  in  all  household 
matters,  none  seeking  to  dispute  lier  right.  They  went  to 
her  at  all  times  with  their  troubles  and  their  pleasures,  and 
she  symjoathized  with  them,  advised  them,  or  consoled 
them,  as  the  case  might  need.  That  they  were  as  the  very 
apple  of  her  eye,  was  evident  to  all,  and  that  they  loved  her 
dearly,  and  respected  her  entirely,  none  could  fail  to  see. 

There  were  stories  going  about  in  the  village  to  prove  that 
she  had  a  sliai-p  tongue  in  her  head,  anu  this  her  warmest 
friends  did  not  seek  to  deny.  Of  course,  it  was  the  duty  of 
all  the  female  part  of  the  congi'egation  to  visit  at  the  minis- 
ter's house,  and  to  give  such  advice  and  assistance,  with  re- 
gard to  the  arrangements,  as  might  seem  to  be  required  of 
them.  It  is  possible  they  took  more  interest  in  the  matter 
than  if  there  had  been  a  mistress  in  the  house.  "  More  liber- 
ties," Janet  indignantly  declared,  and  after  the  first  visitation 
or  two  she  resolutely  set  her  face  agamst  what  she  called  the 
answering  of  impertinent  questions.  According  to  her  own 
confession,  she  gave  to  several  of  tliem,  whose  mterest  in  thcu* 
affairs  was  expressed  without  due  discretion,  a  "  downseiting," 
and  Graeme  and  the  boys,  and  even  ]Mr.  Elliott,  had  an  idea 
that  a  downsctting  from  Janet  nmst  be  something  s(>rious. 
It  is  true  her  victims'  ignorance  of  the  Scottish  tongue  nmst 
have  taken  the  edge  a  httlc  off  her  sharp  words,  but  there  was 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


73 


no  mistaking  her  indignant  teslimony,  as  regarding  "upbet- 
tiu'  bodies,"  and  "  meddlesome  boiliea,"  that  bestowed  too 
much  tune  on  theii*  neighbors'  affairs,  and  there  was  some  in- 
dignation folt  and  expressed  on  the  subject. 

But  she  had  her  friends,  and  that  not  a  few,  for  sweet  words 
and  soft  came  very  naturally  to  Janet's  lips  when  her  heart 
was  touched,  and  this  always  happened  to  her  in  the  presence 
of  suffering  and  koitow,  and  many  were  the  sad  and  sick  that 
her  kind  words  comforted,  and  her  willing  hands  reheved. 
For  every  shaii^  word  brought  up  against  her,  there  could  be 
told  a  kindly  dcod,  and  Janet's  friends  were  the  most  numer- 
ous at  the  sewiiig-'jircle  that  night. 

Mcrleville  was  by  no  means  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization, 
though  viewed  fro!n  the  liigh  hill  on  which  the  old  meeting- 
house stood,  it  seemed  to  the  childi'cn  to  be  suiToimded  with 
woods.  But  between  the  hills  lay  many  a  fertile  valley.  Ex- 
cept toward  the  west,  where  the  hills  became  mountains,  it 
was  laid  out  into  farms,  nearly  aU  of  which  were  occupied, 
and  veiy  pleasant  homes  some  of  these  farmhouses  were. 
The  village  was  not  large  enough  to  have  a  society  within  it- 
self indcijendent  of  the  dwellers  on  these  farms,  and  all  the 
people,  even  to  the  borders  of  the  "  ten  miles  square,"  c<  <n- 
sidered  themselves  neighbors.  They  were  very  socially 
mclined,  for  the  most  part,  and  Mcrleville  was  a  very  pleasant 
place  to  hve  in. 

Winter  was  the  time  for  visiting.  Theic  was  very  h. 'Jo 
formality  m  their  entertainments.  Nuts  and  apples,  or  dough- 
nuts and  cheese,  was  usually  the  extent  of  their  eJlorts  m  the 
way  of  refreshments,  except  on  special  occasions,  when  fonnal 
invitations  were  given.  Then,  it  nuist  be  confessed,  the  chief 
aun  of  each  housekeeper  .seemed  to  be  to  sui'pass  all  others 
in  the  excellence  and  vanety  of  the  good  things  provided. 
But  for  the  most  part  no  invitations  were  given  or  needed, 
they  dropped  in  on  one  another  in  a  friendly  way. 

The  ministcu-'s  i'aniily  were  not  overlooked.  Scarcely  an 
evening  passed  but  some  of  tlicir  ne-ghbors  came  in.  Indeed, 
this  happened  ttjo  fi-equently  for  Janet's  patience,  for  she 


74 


JANKTri   LOVi:   AND   HEKVICK. 


f 

f' 
t 


sorely  begrudged  llic  time  taken  from  the  minister's  books, 
to  the  entertainment  of  "  ilka  idle  body  that  took  leave  to 
conio  in."  It  gave  her  great  delight  to  see  hun  really  inter- 
ested with  visitors,  but  she  set  her  face  against  liis  being 
troubled  at  all  hours  on  evciy  day  in  the  week. 

"  If  it 's  anything  particular  I  '11  tell  the  minister  you  're 
here,"  she  used  to  say  ;  "  but  he  bade  the  bauns  be  quiet, 
and  I  doubt  he  wouldna  hke  to  be  distm-bed.  Sit  down  a 
minute,  and  I  '11  speak  to  IMiss  Graeme,  and  I  dare  say  the 
minister  will  be  at  leisure  shortly." 

Generally  the  visitor,  by  no  means  displeased,  sat  down  in 
her  bright  kitchen  for  a  chat  with  her  and  the  children.  It 
was  pari  ly  these  evening  visits  that  won  for  ]\Ii's.  Nasmy th 
her  popularity.  Even  in  her  gloomy  days — and  she  had 
some  days  gloomy  enough  about  this  time — she  would  exert 
herself  on  such  an  occasion,  and  with  the  help  of  the  young 
people  the  visitor  was  generally  well  entertained.  Such 
singing  of  songs,  such  telling  of  tales,  such  discussions  as 
were  caiTied  on  in  the  pleasant  fii*ehght !  There  was  no  such 
thing  as  time  lagging  there,  and  often  the  nine  o'clock  wor- 
ship came  before  the  visitor  was  aware. 

Even  Judge  Merle  and  young  Squu'o  Grecnleaf  were  some- 
times detained  in  the  kitchen,  if  they  happened  to  come  m  on 
a  night  when  the  minister  was  more  than  usually  engaged. 

"  For  you  sec,  sir,"  said  she,  on  one  occasion,  "  what  with 
ae  thhig  and  what  with  anithcr,  the  minister  has  had  so  many 
intenTiptions  this  week  akeady,  that  I  dinna  like  to  disturb 
him.  But  if  you  11  sit  down  here  for  a  minute  or  two,  I  dare- 
say he  '11  be  ben  and  I  '11  speak  to  Miss  Graeme." 

"  Mr.  EUiott  seems  a  close  student,"  said  the  Judge,  as  he 
took  the  ofi'ered  seat  by  the  fire. 

"  Ay,  is  he.  Though  if  you  are  like  the  lave  o'  the  folk, 
you  '11  think  no  more  o'  him  for  that.  Folk  o'  my  country 
judge  o'  a  minister  by  the  time  he  spends  in  his  study  ; 
but  here  he  scorns  hardly  to  bo  thought  to  bo  in  the  way  of 
his  duty,  unless  he 's  ca'iiig  about  from  house  to  house,  heark- 
eninji:  to  ilka  auld  ^vife's  tale." 


'U 

u 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


75 


i   i 


**  But,"  said  the  Judge,  much  amused,  "  the  minister  has 
been  studying  all  lii.s  life.  It  seems  as  though  he  miglit 
di'aw  on  old  stores  now."' 

"  Ay,  but  out  o'  the  old  stores  ho  must  bring  new  matter. 
Tlio  minister 's  no  one  that  puts  his  people  off  with  '  caiild 
kail  het  agam,'  and  he  canna  make  sermons  and  rin  here  and 
there  at  the  same  tune." 

"  And  he  can't  attend  to  visitors  and  make  sermons  at  the 
same  time.  That  would  be  to  the  point  at  present,"  said  the 
Judge,  laughing,  "I  think  I'll  be  going." 

"  'Deed,  no,  sir,"  said  Janet,  earnestly,  "  I  didna  mean  you. 
I  'm  aye  glad  to  see  you  or  any  sensible  person  to  converse 
with  the  minister.  It  cheers  him.  But  this  week  it 's  been 
worse  than  ever.  He  hn,s  hardly  had  an  unbroken  hour.  But 
sit  still,  sir.  He  would  be  ill  pleased  if  you  went  away  with- 
out seeing  him." 

"  I  '11  speak  to  papa.  Judge  Merle,"  said  Graeme.  . 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear.  Come  and  speak  to  me  yoursel£ 
I  think  IMrs.  Nasmyth  is  right.  The  minister  ought  not  to 
be  disturbed.  I  have  nothing  particular  to  say  to  him^  I 
came  because  it 's  a  pleasure  to  come,  and  I  did  not  think 
about  its  being  so  near  the  end  of  the  week." 

Graeme  looked  rather  anxiously  from  him  to  Janet. 

"  My  dear,  you  needna  trouble  yourself.  It 's  no'  folk  hke 
the  Judge  and  young  Mr.  Greenleaf  that  will  be  likely  to  take 
umbrage  at  being  kept  waiting  a  wee  while  here.  It 's  folk 
like  the  'smith  yonder,  or  Orrin  Green,  the  upsettin'  body. 
But  you  can  go  in  now  and  see  if  your  papa 's  at  leisure, 
and  tell  him  the  Judge  is  here." 

"  We  had  IMr.  Greenleaf  here  awhile  the  itlicr  night,"  she 
continued,  as  Graeme  disappeared.  "  A  nice,  pleasant  spoken 
gentleman  he  is,  an  no'  ae  bit  o'  a  Yankee." 

The  Judge  opened  his  eyes.  It  was  rather  an  equivocal 
compliment,  considering  the  person  to  whom  she  sjioke.  But 
he  was  not  one  of  the  kind  to  take  offence,  as  Janet  justly 
said. 


I       I 


i 


I' 


CHAPTER    IX. 


OTHER  favorites  of  IVIrs.  Nasnijiih's  wcro  Mr.  Snow  and 
tlie  schoolmaster,  and  the  secret  of  her  interest  in 
them  was  their  interest  in  the  baims,  and  their  visits  were 
made  as  often  to  the  kitchen  as  to  the  stndy.  Mr.  Snow  had 
been  their  friend  from  the  very  first.  He  had  made  good  his 
promise  as  to  nutting  and  squirrel-hunting.  He  had  taught 
them  to  skate,  and  given  them  their  first  sleighride  ;  he  had 
lielped  them  in  the  malcing  of  sleds,  and  never  came  down  to 
the  village  but  with  his  pockets  full  of  rosy  apples  to  the  ht- 
tle  ones.  They  made  many  a  day  pleasant  for  his  little  girl, 
botl\  at  his  house  and  theirs  ;  and  he  thought  nothing  too 
much  to  do  for  those  who  were  kind  to  Emilv. 

Janet's  kind  heart  had  been  touched,  and  her  unfailing 
energies  exercised  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Snow's  melancholy,  ner- 
vous wife.  In  ujoon  the  monotony  of  her  life  she  had  burst 
like  a  ray  of  wmtry  sunshine  mto  her  room,  brightenmg  it  to 
at  least  a  momentary  cheerfuhiess.  Dimng  a  long  and  tedious 
illness,  from  which  she  had  suffered,  soon  after  the  minister's 
arrival  in  Merleville,  Janet  had  watched  with  her  a  good 
many  nights,  and  the  only  visit  which  the  partially-restored 
iuvaUd  made  during  tha  winter  wliich  stirred  so  much  pleas- 
ant life  among  them,  was  at  the  minister's,  where  she  was 
wonderfully  cheered  by  the  kindness  of  them  all.  But  it  was 
seldom  that  she  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  leave  her  Avarm 
room  in  wintry  weather,  and  Sampson's  visits  were  made 
alone,  or  in  company  with  little  Emily. 

The  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Isaac  Newton  Foster,  came  often, 
partly  because  ho  liked  the  lads,  and  partly  because  of  liis 
fondness  for  mathematics.  The  night  of  his  visit  was  always 
(76) 


JANI/r  a    LOVE    AND   SKRVICE. 


T7 


honored  by  the  light  of  an  extra  Ciuulle,  for  liia  appoaranco 
was  the  signal  for  the  biiiiging  forth  of  fslatt-s  and  books,  and 
it  v/as  wouderfid  what  pleasure  they  all  got  together  from 
the  mysterious  figures  and  symbols,  of  which  they  never 
seemed  to  grow  weary. 

Gr.'K'ino,  from  being  interested  in  the  progress  of  her  broth- 
ers, soon  became  interested  in  their  studies  for  their  own 
sake,  and  ]Mr.  Foster  had  not  a  mm'e  docile  or  successful 
pupil  than  she  became.  Janet  had  her  doubts  about  her 
"  taking  up  with  books  that  were  fit  only  for  Icuhlies,"  but 
]\lr.  Foster  proved,  with  many  words,  that  her  ideas  were 
altogether  old-fashioned  on  the  subject,  and  as  the  minister 
did  not  object,  and  Graeme  herself  had  gi'cat  dehght  in  it, 
she  made  no  objections.  Her  first  opinion  on  the  school- 
master had  been  that  ho  was  a  well-moaning,  harmless  lad, 
and  it  was  given  in  a  tone  which  said  plainer  than  words, 
that  little  more  could  Ije  put  forth  in  his  favor.  But  by  and 
by,  as  she  watched  liim,  and  saw  the  inpuence  for  good  which 
he  exerted  over  the  lads,  keeping  them  from  mischief,  and 
really  mteresting  them  in  their  studies,  she  came  to  have  a 
gi'eat  respect  for  Mr.  Foster. 

But  all  the  evenings  when  Mr.  Foster  was  with  them  were 
not  given  up  to  lessons.  When,  as  sometimes  happened,  IVlr. 
Snow  or  Mr.  Greonleaf  came  in,  something  much  more  excit- 
ing took  the  place  of  Algebra.  Mr.  Grecnleaf  was  not  usually 
the  chief  spctdjcr  on  such  occasions,  but  he  had  the  faciUty 
of  making  the  rest  speak,  and  having  engaged  the  lads,  and 
sometimes  even  Graeme  and  Janet,  in  the  discussion  of  some 
exciting  question,  often  the  comparative  merits  of  the  institu- 
tions of  then*  respective  countries,  he  would  leave  the  burden 
of  the  argument  to  the  willing  Mr.  Foster,  while  he  assumed 
the  position  of  audience,  or  put  in  a  word  now  and  then,  as 
the  occasion  seemed  to  require.  They  seldom  lost  theii"  tem- 
pers when  he  was  there,  as  they  somothnes  did  on  less  favored 
occasions.  For  Janet  and  Janet's  bairas  were  prompt  to  do 
battle  where  the  honor  of  their  country  was  concerned,  and 
though  Mr.  Foster  was  good  nature  itself,  he  sometimes 


78 


JANKTii    LOVK    AND    SKUVICK. 


■1-- 


.1. 

i 


Hw 


; 


offended.  Ho  could  not  conscicntiouHly  ^nthhol^d  the  mipe- 
rior  lif^lit  which  ho  owed  to  his  birth  and  cdueation  in  a  land 
of  liboi-ty,  if  ho  might  dispel  the  darkness  of  old-world  preju- 
dice in  which  his  friends  were  enveloped.  INIr.  Snow  wa.s 
ready  too  with  his  hints  about  "  despotism"  and  "aristocracy," 
and  on  such  occasions  tho  lads  never  failed  to  throw  them- 
selves headlong  into  tho  thick  of  tho  battles  with  a  fierce;  de- 
sire to  demohsh  things  in  general,  and  Yankee  institutions 
in  particular.  It  is  to  bo  feared  tho  disputants  were  not 
always  very  consistent  in  tho  arguments  they  used  ;  but 
their  camcstness  made  up  for  their  bad  logic,  and  tho  hot 
words  spoken  on  both  sides  woro  never  remembered  when 
tlio  morrow  came. 

A  chance  word  of  tho  master's  had  set  them  all  at  it,  one 
night  when  Mr.  Snow  came  in  ;  and  books  and  slates  wore 
forgotten  in  the  eagerness  of  tho  disimto.  Tho  lads  were 
in  danger  of  forgetting  tho  respect  duo  to  Mr.  Foster,  as 
their  teacher,  at  such  times  ;  but  ho  was  slow  to  resent  it, 
and  Mr.  Snow's  silent  laughter  testified  to  his  enjoyment  of 
this  particular  occasion.  Tho  stiifo  was  getting  warm  when 
^Ir.  Greenleaf 's  laiock  was  heard.  Norman  was  in  the  act 
of  hurUng  some  hundred  thousands  of  black  slaves  at  the 
schoolmaster's  devoted  head,  while  Mr.  Foster  strove  hard 
to  shield  himself  by  holding  up  "  Britain's  WTotched  opera- 
tives and  stai-viug  poor." 

"Come  along.  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "We  want  you 
to  settle  this  little  difficulty.  Mrs.  Nasmyth  ain't  going  to 
let  you  into  the  study  just  now,  at  least  she  would  n't  let  me. 
The  minister  's  busy  to-night." 

Mr.  Greenleaf,  nothing  loath,  sat  down  and  drew  Marian 
to  his  knee. 

Neither  Norman  nor  ]VIr.  Foster  was  so  eager  to  go  on  as 
Mr.  Snow  was  to  have  them ;  but  after  a  little  judicious 
stuTing  up  on  his  part,  they  were  soon  in  "full  blast,"  as  he 
wliisi)ered  to  his  friend.  The  discussion  was  about  slavery 
this  time,  and  need  not  be  given.  It  was  not  confined  to 
Norman  and  Mr.  Foster.     All  the  rest  had  something  to 


JANETS    I.oVi;    AND   SKltVICK. 


79 


say ;  cvon  JiiiK.'t  joined  when  sIk;  tlumj^lit  a  wido  tlunist  would 
be  of  nso.  ]iiit  \<)i  in:iu  wiiA  the  chief  speakcT  on  his  side. 
Tliesnlijeet  hud  heen  discussed  in  the  vilhij^o  School  Lyceum, 
nnd  NoniuiJi  liud  dist  in  finished  himself  ther(3 ;  not  exactly 
by  the  clciivnoss  or  the  stren^'th  of  his  arguments — certainly 
not  by  their  ori{^'inality.  But  he  thundered  forth  the  lines 
be<,'innin^  "I  would  not  have  a  slave,"  etc.,  to  the  intense 
delight  of  his  side,  and  to  at  least  the  momentary  disconiti- 
tiiro  of  the  other. 

To-ni},'ht  he  was  neither  very  logical  nor  very  reasonable, 
and  ^Ir.  Foster  conii)lainod  at  last. 

"  But,  Norman,  you  don't  keep  to  the  pomt. " 

"  Talks  all  round  the  lot,"  said  Mr.  Snow. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  is  not  confined  to  Nonnan,"  said  Mr. 
Grcenleaf. 

"Nonnan  is  right,  anywa}',"  pronounced  Menie. 

*'  He  reasons  in  a  circle,"  saitl  the  master.  "And  because 
slavciy  is  the  only  Haw  in " 

"  The  only  tlaw !"  said  Nonnan,  with  awfiU  ii'ony. 

"  Well,  yes,"  interposed  j\Ir.  Snow.  "  But  we  have  had 
enough  of  the  Constitution  for  to-night.  Let 's  look  at  our 
counti'y.  It  can't  be  beaten  any  way  you  take  it.  Physically 
or  morally,"  pursued  he,  with  gi'cat  gravity,  "  it  can't  be 
beaten.  There  are  no  such  mountains,  rivers,  nor  lakes  as 
our's  arc.  Our  laws  and  our  institutions  generally  are  just 
about  what  they  ought  to  be.  Even  foreigners  see  that,  and 
prove  it,  by  coming  to  share  our  pri\dlcges.  "Where  will  you 
find  such  a  general  diffusion  of  knowledge  among  all  classes  ? 
Classes?  There  is  only  one  class.  All  art;  fi-ce  and 
equal." 

"  Folk  thinking  themselves  equal  doesna  make  them 
equal,"  said  ^Irs.  Nasmyth,  to  whom  the  last  remark  had 
been  adtli-cssed.  "  For  my  i)art,  I  never  saw  pride — really 
to  call  pride — till  I  saw  it  in  this  fine  country  o'  youi's — ilka 
ane  thinking  himself  as  good  as  his  neighbor." 

"Well — so  they  be.     Liberty  and  equahty  is  our  ticket." 

"  But  ye  're  no'  a'  equal.     There 's  as  muckle  difference 


t 


Ml- 


80 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


i|t.t 


n 


among  folks  here  as  fclscwliore,  whatever  be  your  ticket. 
There  are  folk  coming  and  gomg  here,  that  in  my  counti-y 
I  would  have  sent  round  to  the  back  door  ;  but  naething 
short  of  the  company  of  the  mmistcr  hinjself  will  servo 
them.  (Jcntlemen  like  the  Judge,  or  like  'Mv.  (neenlcaf 
hero,  will  sit  and  bide  the  mmistor's  time  ;  but  upscttin' 
bodies  such  as  I  could  name " 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  name  them,  I  guess.  General  principles 
arc  best  in  such  a  case,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "  And  I  am  willing 
to  confess  there  is  among  us  an  aristo(!racy  of  merit.  Your 
friend  the  Judge  belongs  to  that  and  yoiu*  father,  JMiss 
Graeme  ;  and  I  expect  Squire  Greenleaf  will,  too,  when  ho 
goes  to  Congi'ess.  But  no  man  is  groat  hero  just  because 
his  fatlier  was  before  him.  Everybody  has  a  chance.  "Now, 
on  your  side  of  the  water,  '  a  man  must  be  just  what  his 
father  was.'     Folks  must  stay  just  there.     That 's  a  fact." 

"You  seem  to  bo  \»eel  informed,"  said  Janet,  drily. 

"  Ah !  yes  ;  I  know  all  aliout  it.  An3'body  may  laiow  any- 
thing and  cvei-ytlung  in  this  coiuitry.  "VVo  're  a  great  people. 
Ain't  that  so,  INIr.  Foster  ?  " 

"It  must  bo  granted  by  all  unprejudiced  minds,  that 
Britain  has  produced  some  gi-eat  men,"  said  Mr.  Foster, 
breaking  out  in  a  new  spot,  as  ]\Ir.  Snov,-  whispered  to  the 
Squire. 

"  Surely  that  -w  ould  be  gi*anting  too  much,"  said  Norman. 

*'  But,"  pursued  ]\Ir.  Foster,  "  Britons  themselves  confess 
that  it  is  on  this  Westem  Continent  that  tho  Anj^lo-Suxon 
race  is  destined  to  triumph.  Descended  from  Britons,  a 
now  element  has  entered  into  thou*  blood,  Avhich  shall — which 
must — wliich " 

"  Sounds  considerable  like  the  glorious  Fourth,  don't  it  ?  " 
wliispered  INIr.  SnoAV. 

"  Wliich  hasna  put  nuicklo  ilesh  on  their  bones  as  yet," 
said  the  literal  Mrs.  Na.-<myth. 

"I  was  about  to  say  tluit— that " 

"  Tliat  tho  British  can  lick  !  Jl  creation,  and  we  can  lick  the 
British,''  snid  Mr.  Snow. 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


81 


"  Any  crisis  involving  a  trial  of  strength,  ^v•oulc^  prove  our 
superiority,"  said  Mi'.  Foster,  taking  a  now  start. 

'*  That 's  bficn  proved  already,"  said  jVIi".  Snow,  ■watching 
the  sparkle  in  Graeme's  eye.     Sh(^  laughed  mei-rily. 

"  No,  IVIi'.  Snow.  They  may  fight  it  out  without  me  to- 
night." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  growing  prudent.  JMrs.  Nasmyth, 
you  would  n't  believe  how  angry  she  was  with  me  one  night." 

"  Angiy !  "  repeated  Graeme.     "  Ask  Celestia." 

"  AVell,  I  guess  I  should  n't  have  much  chance  between 
Celestia  and  you.  But  I  said  then,  and  I  say  now,  you  '11 
make  a  lirst-rato  Yankee  gu"l  yourself  before  seven  years." 

"  A  Yankee !  "  rej^eated  her  brothers. 

"  A  Yankee,"  echoed  Menie. 

"Hush,  Menie.  Mr.  Snow  is  laughing  at  us,"  said 
Graeme. 

"I  would  rather  bo  just  a  httle  Scotch  lassie,  than  a 
Yankee  Queen,"  said  Menie,  firmly. 

There  was  a  laugh,  and  Menie  was  indignant  at  her 
brothers  for  joining. 

"  You  mean  a  president's  wife.  We  don't  allow  queens 
here — in  this  free  country,"  said  IMr.  Snow. 

"But  it  is  di-cadful  that  you  should  hate  us  so,"  said  the 
Squire." 

"  I  hke  you,  and  the  Judge.     And  I  hke  Mrs.  Merle." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Snow,  solemnly. 

"I  like  Emily.  And  I  hke  you  when  you  don't  vex 
Graeme." 

"  And  who  else  ?  "  ushed  Mr.  Greenleaf. 

"  I  hke  Celestic;.  h!he  's  nice,  and  doesna  ask  questions. 
And  so  does  'Trr^ome.  And  Janet  says  that  Celestia  is  a  lady. 
Don't  you  like  her  ? "  asked  Menie,  thinking  her  friend  un- 
responsive. 

"  You  seem  to  be  good  at  asking  questions  yourself,  Menie, 
my  woman,"  interposed  Mrs.  Nasmyth.  "  I  doubt  you 
should  be  in  your  bed  by  this  time."     But  Mr.  Snow  caused 

a  diversion  from  anything  so  melancholy. 

4* 


i 


r 


1 


i  ■ 


82 


Janet's  love  and  sekvice. 


"And  don't  Cousin  Celostia  like  me?"  asked  he. 
"  Yes  ;  she  said  you  were  a  good  friend  of  hers  ;  but  is  she 
yooi-  cousin?" 

"Weil,  not  exactly— we 're  not  very  near  cousins.  But  I 
see  to  her  some,  and  mean  to.     I  like  her." 

The  study  doo/  cpened,  and  there  was  no  time  for  an 
answer  frora  any  one  ;  but  as  ]\Ii'.  Snow  went  up  the  hill  he 
said  to  himself:  "Yes,  I  shall  sec  to  her.  She  is  smart 
enough  and  good  enough  for  him  if  he  does  expect  to  go  to 
Congress." 


i 


k  ' 


CHAPTER     X 


44 


I 


LIKE  the  wootl  fii'cs,"  saitl  (Jraeine.     "  Tlioy  ai*c  far 
clearer  than  the  peat  fires  at  home." 

They  were  sitting,  Graeme  and  Janet,  accordinfjf  to  their 
usual  custom,  a  little  after  the  others  had  all  pfone  to  bed. 
The  study-door  was  closed,  though  the  light  still  gleamed 
beneath  it ;  but  it  was  getting  late,  and  the  minister  would 
not  be  out  again. 

Graeme  might  well  admii'e  such  a  wood  fire  as  that  bo- 
fore  which  they  were  sitting.  The  fore-stick  had  nearly 
burned  through,  and  the  brands  had  fallen  over  the  and- 
ii'ous,  but  the  gi-cat  back-log  glowed  with  light  and  heat, 
though  only  now  and  then  a  bright  blaze  leapt  up.  It  was 
Mot  very  warm  in  the  room,  however,  except  for  their  faces, 
and  Graeme  shivered  a  little  as  she  drew  nearer  to  the  fire, 
and  hardly  heeding  that  Janet  did  not  answer  her,  fell  to 
di'caming  in  the  firelight. 

Without,  the  iiide  March  winds  were  roai-ing,  and  within, 
too,  for  that  matter.  For  though  carpets,  and  curtains,  and 
listings  nailed  over  seams  might  keep  out  the  bitter  frost 
when  the  an*  was  still,  the  east  whids  of  March  swept  in 
thi'ough  evei-y  crack  and  crevice,  chillbig  them  to  the  bone. 
It  roared  wildly  among  the  boughs  of  the  great  elms  in  the 
yard,  and  the  tall  well-sweep  creaked,  and  the  bucket  swimg 
to  and  fro  with  a  noise  that  came  through  Graeme's  di'cam 
and  distiu'bed  it  at  last.  Looking  up  suddenly  she  became 
aware  that  the  gloom  that  had  been  gathering  over  Janet  for 
many  a  day  hung  darkly  roimd  her  now.  She  (h:ew  near  to 
her,  antl  laying  her  arms  dovni  on  her  lap  in  the  old  fashion, 
said  softly : 

(88) 


I 


» I 


n 


. 


!»' 


84 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


Ni 


li 


"The  winter's  noar  ovor  nov,  Jnnct," 

"Ay,  thank  the  Lord  for  that,  t'.ny  way,"  said  Janot  She 
knew  that  Graeme's  v/ords  and  inovenicnt  were  an  invitation 
to  tell  her  thoughts,  so  she  ben:  forward  to  collect  the  scat- 
tered brands  and  settle  the  fore-stick,  for  she  felt  that  her 
thoughts  were  not  of  tlie  kind  to  bear  teUing  to  Graeme  or 
to  any  one.  As  she  gathered  them  together  between  the 
andirons,  she  sighed  a  sigh  of  mingled  sorrow  and  impa- 
tience. And  the  light  that  leapt  suldenly  up  made  the  cloud 
on  her  brow  more  visible.  For  the  winter  that  had  been  so 
full  of  enjojnuent  to  all  the  rest  had  been  a  time  of  trial  to 
Janet. 

To  the  young  people,  the  vriuter  had  brought  numberless 
pleasures.  The  lads  had  gone  to  the  school,  where  they  were 
busy  and  happy,  and  the  little  ores  had  been  busy  and 
happ3'  at  home.  None  had  enjoyed  llie  winter  more  than 
Graeme.  The  change  had  been  altogether  beneficial  to 
Ro  ic  ;  and  never  since  their  mother's  death  had  the  elder 
sif-ter  been  so  much  at  ease  about  her.  Thpro  was  little  to 
be  done  m  the  way  of  making  or  mending,  and,  with  leisure 
at  her  disposal,  she  was  falling  into  her  old  habits  of  read- 
ing and  di'eammg.  She  had  been  busy  teaching  the  little 
ones,  too,  and  at  night  worked  with  her  brothers  at  their 
lessons,  so  that  the  winter  had  been  profitable  as  well  as 
pleasant  to  her.  At  all  times  in  his  study,  amid  the  silent 
friends  that  had  become  so  dear  to  liim,  ]Mr.  Elliott  could  bo 
content  ;  and  in  liis  eiforts  to  become  acquainted  with  his 
people,  their  wants  and  tastes,  he  had  been  roused  to  some- 
thing Uke  the  cheerfulness  of  former  years. 

But  to  Janet  the  winter  had  been  a  time  of  conflict,  a 
long  struggle  Avith  imseen  enemies  ;  and  as  she  sat  there  in 
the  dim  fii'clight,  she  was  telling  herself  sorrowfully  that  she 
would  be  worsted  by  them  at  last.  Homesickness,  bhnd  and 
um-easonuig,  had  taken  possession  of  her.  Night  by  night 
she  had  lain  down  with  the  dull  pain  gnawing  at  her  heai't. 
Momuig  by  morning  she  had  risen  sick  with  the  inappeas- 
ablc  yearning  for  her  home,  a  longing  that  would  not  bo 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   SEUVICl':. 


85 


stilled,  to  walk  again  tlu'ough  familiar  scenes,  to  look  again 
on  familiar  faces. 

The  iirst  letters  from  home,  so  longed  for  by  all,  so  wel- 
comed and  rejoiced  over  by  the  rest,  brought  httle  comfort 
to  her.  Arthur's  letters  to  his  father  and  (iraeme,  so  clear 
and  full  of  all  they  wished  to  hear  about,  "  so  hkc  a  printed 
book,"  made  it  all  the  harder  for  her  to  bear  her  distippoint- 
ment  over  Sandy's  obscure,  ill-sjielt  and  indifi'erently-written 
letter.  She  had  of  old  justly  prid(Hl  herself  on  Sandy's 
"  hand  o'  write  ; "  but  she  had  yet  to  learn  the  diiference 
between  a  school-boy's  writmg,  with  a  copper-plate  setting 
at  the  head  of  the  page,  and  that  which  must  be  the  re- 
sult of  a  first  encoimter  with  the  combined  difficulties  of 
writing,  spelling  and  composition. 

Poor  Sandy !  Ho  had  labored  hard,  doubtless,  and  had 
done  his  best,  but  it  was  not  satisfactory.  Jn  wishing  to  be 
minute,  he  had  become  mysterious,  and,  to  the  same  end, 
the  impartial  distribution  through  all  parts  of  the  letter  of 
capitals,  commas  and  full  stops,  had  also  tended.  There  Avas 
a  large  sheet  closely  written,  and  out  of  the  whole  but  two 
clear  ideas  could  be  gathered.  Air.  More  of  the  parish  school 
was  dead,  and  they  were  to  have  a  new  master,  and  that 
Mrs.  Smith  had  changed  her  mind,  and  he  was  not  to  be  at 
Saughleas  for  the  winter  after  all. 

There  were  other  troubles  too,  that  Janet  had  to  bear 
alone.  The  cold,  that  served  to  brace  the  othei's,  chilled 
her  to  the  bone.  Unaccustomed  to  any  greater  vaiiatiou  of 
temperature  than  might  be  very  well  met  by  the  putting  on 
or  taking  off  of  her  plaid,  the  bitter  cold  of  the  New  Eng- 
land whiter,  as  she  went  out  and  in  about  her  work,  was 
felt  keenly  by  her.  She  could  not  resist  it,  nor  gunrd  herself 
against  it.  Stove-heat  was  mibearable  to  her.  An  hoiu* 
spent  in  IMrs.  Snow's  hot  room  often  made  her  unlit  for  any- 
thing for  hours  after  ;  and  sleigh-riding,  which  never  failed 
to  excite  the  childien  to  the  highest  spirits,  was  as  fatal  to 
her  comfort  as  the  pitching  of  the  "Steadfast"  had  been. 
To  say  that  she  was  ilLsappouited  a\  ith  herself  in  view  of  all 


ill 


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80 


JANI'.T  S    LOVK    AKD   SERVICE. 


I 


I 


k  '! 


this,  iH,  by  no  mcana,  saving  enough.  She  was  angry  at  her 
folly,  and  called  herself  "  silly  body "  and  "  useless  body," 
striving  with  all  her  might  to  throw  the  burden  from 
her. 

Then,  again,  with  only  a  few  exceptions,  she  did  not  like 
the  people.  They  were,  in  her  opinion,  at  the  same  time, 
extravagant  and  penurious,  proud  and  mean,  ignorant,  yet 
Aviso  "  above  what  is  written,"  self-satisfied  and  curious.  The 
fact  A\as,  her  ideas  of  things  in  general  were  disarranged  by 
the  state  of  affairs  in  Merleville.  She  never  could  make  out 
"who  was  somebody  and  who  was  nacbody;"  and  what 
made  the  matter  more  mysterious,  thoy  did  not  seem  to  know 
themselves. 

Airs.  Judge  Merle  had  made  her  first  visit  to  the  minister's 
in  company  with  the  v.ife  of  the  village  blacksmith,  and  if 
there  was  a  lady  between  them  IMi's.  Page  evidently  believed 
it  to  bo  herself.  Mrs.  IMcrle  was  "a  nice  motherly  bod}', 
that  sat  on  her  seat  and  behaved  herself,  while  INIrs.  Pago 
went  hither  and  thither,  opening  doors  and  spying  fairlics, 
speii'ing  about  things  she  had  no  concern  with,  hke  an  ill- 
bred  woman  as  she  is  ;  and  passing  her  remarks  on  the 
minister  and  the  preaching,  as  if  she  were  a  judge."  Both 
of  them  had  invited  her  to  visit  them  very  kindly,  no  doubt ; 
but  Janet  had  no  satisfaction  in  this  or  in  anything  that  con- 
cerned them.  She  was  out  of  her  element.  Things  were 
quite  different  from  anytliing  she  had  been  used  with.  She 
grow  depressed  and  doubtful  of  herself,  and  no  wonder  that 
a  gloom  Mas  gMtheriiig  over  her. 

Some  thought  of  all  this  came  into  Graeme's  mind,  as  she 
sat  watching  lier  while  she  gathered  together  the  brands  with 
unsteady  hands,  and  with  the  thought  came  a  little  remorse. 
She  had  been  thinking  little  of  Janet  and  her  trials  all  theso 
days  she  had  been  passing  so  pleasantly  with  her  boolis,  in 
the  corner  of  her  father's  study.  She  blamed  herself  for  her 
thonghth^ssness,  and  resolvod  that  it  should  not  be  so  in 
future.  In  the  mean  tunc,  it  seemed  as  though  she  must  say 
something  to  chase  the  shadow  from  the  Icind  face.    But  she 


JANETS   LOVE  AND   SERVICE. 


87 


did  not  know  what  to  say.     Janet  set  down  the  tongs,  and 
raised  herself  with  a  sigh.     Graeme  drew  nearer. 

"  "What  is  it,  O'anct '? "  asked  she,  laying  her  hand  caress- 
ingly on  her's.     "  Winna  you  tell  me  ?  " 

Jauet  gave  a  startled  look  into  her  face. 

"  What  is  what,  my  dear?" 

"  Something  is  vexing  yon,  and  you  winna  tell  me,"  said 
Graeme,  reproachfully. 

"Hoot,  lassie !  what  should  ail  me.    I  'm  weel  enough." 

"  You  are  wearying  for  a  letter,  maybe.  But  it 's  hardly 
time  yet,  Janet." 

"  I  'm  no  weaiyin'  the  night  more  than  usual.  And  if  I  got 
a  letter,  it  mightna  give  mo  muckle  comfoii." 

"  Then  something  ails  you,  and  you  winna  tell  me,"  said 
Graeme  again,  in  a  grieved  voice. 

"My  dear,  I  hae  nae thing  to  tell." 

"Is  it  me,  Janet?  Hae  I  done  anything?  Tou  ken  I 
wouidna  willingly  do  wrong  ?  "  pleaded  Graeme. 

Janet  put  her  fingers  over  the  girl's  hps. 

"Wliist,  my  lammic.  It's  nacthing — or  naething  that 
can  be  helpit,"  and  she  struggled  fiercely  to  keep  back  the 
flood  that  was  swelHng  in  her  full  heaii;.  Graeme  said  no- 
thing, but  stroked  the  toil-woni  hand  of  her  friend,  and,  at 
last,  laid  her  cheek  down  upon  it. 

"  Lassie,  lassie !  I  canna  help  it,"  and  the  long  pent  up 
flood  gushed  forth,  and  the  tears  fell  on  Graeme's  bent  head 
like  rain.  Graeme  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  but  she  prayed 
in  her  heart  that  God  would  comfort  her  friend  in  her  un- 
known sorrow  ;  and  by  the  first  words  she  spoke  she  knew 
that  sjio  was  comforted. 

"  I  am  an  auld  fule,  I  believe,  or  a  spoiled  bairn,  that  doesna 
ken  it's  ain  mind,  and  I  think  I  'm  growing  waur  ilka  day," 
and  she  paused  to  wipe  the  tears  from  her  face. 

"  But  what  is  it,  Janet  ?  "  asked  Graeme,  softly. 

"It's  naething,  dear,  nae  tiling  that  I  can  tell  to  mortal 
I  dinna  ken  what  has  come  ower  me.     It 's  just  as  if  a  giant 
had  a  gripe  o'  me,  and  move  I  canna.     But  surely  I  '11  be  set 
free  in  time." 


!  1 


I 


88 


JAN1:T  8    LOVE   AND   8EKVICE. 


i 


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■I'l 


There  was  nothing'  Oraomo  conlJ  say  to  this  ;  but  she  laid 
her  check  down  on  Janet's  hand  again,  and  there  were  tears 
iijjon  it. 

'*  Now  dinna  do  that,  Miss  Graeme,"  cried  Janet,  struggling 
with  another  wave  of  the  returning  flood.  "  AVhat  will  come 
o'  us  if  you  give  way.  There  's  naething  ails  me  but  that 
I  'm  an  auld  falc,  and  I  canna  help  that,  you  ken." 

"  Janet,  it  was  an  awful  sacrifice  you  made,  to  leave  your 
mother  and  8andy  to  come  with  us.  I  never  thought  till  to- 
night how  gi'eat  it  must  have  been." 

"  Ay,  lassie.  I  '11  no  deny  it,  but  dinna  think  that  I  gnidge 
it  now.  It  wasna  made  in  a  right  sperit,  and  tliat  the  Lord 
is  showing  mo.     I  thought  you  couldna  do  without  me " 

"We  couldna,  Janet." 

"  And  I  aye  thought  if  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  your  father 
and  your  father's  bairns,  and  could  see  them  contented  and 
well  in  a  strange  land,  that  would  be  enough  for  me.  And  I 
liae  gotten  my  wish.  You  're  a'  weel,  and  weel  contented, 
and  ray  heart  is  lying  in  my  breast  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  no 
strength  of  mine  can  lift  the  bui'dcn.     God  help  me." 

"  God  will  help  you,"  said  Graeme,  softly.  "  It  is  the  sore 
homesickness,  like  the  captives  by  Babel  stream.  But  the 
Lord  never  brought  you  here  in  anger,  and,  Janet,  it  will 
pass  away." 

"  Weel,  it  maybe.  That 's  what  my  mother  said,  or  some- 
thing like  it.  He  means  to  let  me  see  that  you  can  do  with- 
out me.     But  I  '11  bide  still  awhile,  anyway." 

Graeme's  face  was  full  of  dismay. 

"  Janet !  what  could  we  ever  do  without  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  could  leara.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  leave  you 
yet.  The  giant  shallna  master  me  with  my  will.  But,  oh  I 
lassie,  whiles  I  thuik  the  Lord  has  turned  against  me  for  my 
self-seoking  and  pride." 

"  But,  Janet,"  said  Graeme,  gravely,  "  the  Lord  never  turns 
against  his  own  people.  And  if  anybody  in  the  world  is  free 
from  self-seeking  it  is  you.  It  is  for  us  you  are  living,  and 
not  for  yourself." 


JAXET  8    LOVE    AND    SKUVICK. 


89 


I 


Janet  shook  her  licatl. 

"  And,  Janet,  when  the  bonny  spiing  days  come,  the  giant 
will  let  you  go.     The  weight  will  be  hfted  off,  I  'm  sure  it  will. 

And,  Janet,  ab(  at  Sandy .     You  may  l)e  sure  o'  him.     If 

you  had  been  there  to  guide  him,  ho  might  have  been  will- 
ful, and  have  gone  astray,  like  others.  But  now  the  liord 
will  have  him  in  His  keeping,  for,  Janet,  if  ever  a  fatherless 
child  was  left  to  the  Lord,  you  left  Sandy  for  our  sakes,  and 
He  v/ill  never  forsake  him,  never,  m'ver  !  " 

Janet's  tears  were  falling  softly  now,  like  the  bright  di-ops 
after  the  tempest  is  over,, and  the  bow  of  promise  ia  about  to 
span  the  heavens. 

"  And,  Janet,  we  all  love  you  dearly."  Graeme  had  risen, 
and  put  her  arms  round  her  nci*k  by  this  time.  "  Sometimes 
the  boys  arc  rough,  and  don't  seem  to  care,  but  tliey  do  care  ; 
and  I  'm  thoughtless,  too,  and  careless,"  she  added,  humbly, 
"but  I  was  that  with  my  motlier,  whik-s,  and  you  ken  I 
loved  her  dearly."  And  the  cry  of  pain  that  came  with  tho 
words,  told  how  dearly  her  mother  was  remembered  still. 
Janet  held  her  close. 

"  And,  Janet,  you  must  'mind  mo  of  tilings,  as  my  mother 
used  to  do.  Wiien  I  get  a  book,  you  ken  I  forget  things, 
and  you  wanna  let  me  do  wrong  for  my  mother's  sake.  We 
have  no  mother,  Janet,  and  what  could  we  do  without  you  ? 
And  all  this  pain  will  pass  away,  and  you  will  grow  light- 
hearted  again." 

And  so  it  was.  The  worst  was  over  after  that  night. 
Much  more  was  said  before  they  separated,  and  Graeme 
realized,  for  the  first  time,  some  of  the  discomforts  of  their 
present  way  of  living,  as  far  as  Janet  was  concerned.  House- 
keeping affairs  had  been  left  altogether  in  her  hands,  and 
everything  was  so  different  from  all  that  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to,  and  she  was  slow-to  leam  new  ways.  The  produce 
system  was  a  great  embarrassment  to  her.  This  getting  '*  a 
pickle  meal"  from  one,  and  "a  curn  tawties"  from  o,n other, 
she  could  not  endure.  It  was  "  hving  from  hand  to  mouth  " 
at  best,  to  say  uotliing  of  the  uncomfortable  doubts  now  and 


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.TANKTS    LOVE    AND   SKRVICK. 


then,  as  to  wlictlior  tlio  articles  broiifrht  Avcro  intended  as 
presents,  or  as  tlio  2>i>'yn»t'nt  of  the  "  minister's  tax,"  as  tho 
least  delieato  amonj^  tho  people  called  it. 

"And,  my  dear,  I  just  wish  your  fatlier  would  j^et  a  settlo 
mcnt  with  them,  and  wo  would  bef,'in  a^'ain,  and  put  aethin^ 
down  in  a  book.  For  I  hac  my  doubts  as  to  how  we  are  to 
make  the  two  ends  meet.  Tilings  mount  up  you  ken,  and  wo 
maun  try  and  guide  things." 

Crraeme  looked  gi'ave.  "I  wonder  what  my  father  thinks," 
said  she.     Janet  shook  her  head. 

"  Wo  manna  trouble  youi*  father  if  wo  cau  help  it.  Tho 
last  minister  they  had  had  enough  ado  to  live,  they  say,  and 
he  had  fewer  bairns.  I  'm  no'  feared  but  wo  '11  bo  provided 
for.  And,  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  you  'U  need  to  begin  and 
keep  an  account  again." 

Janet's  voice  had  the  old  cheerful  echo  in  it  by  this  time, 
and  Graeme  promised,  with  good  heart,  to  do  all  she  could 
to  keep  her  father's  mind  easy,  and  tho  household  accounts 
sti'aight. 

Weeks  passed  on,  and  even  before  the  bonny  spring  days 
had  come,  the  giant  had  let  Janet  go,  and  sho  was  her  own 
cheerful  self  again.  Tho  letter  that  Hariy  brought  in  with 
a  shout  before  March  was  over,  was  a  very  different  letter 
from  the  oho  that  had  caused  Janet  to  shed  such  tears  of 
disappointment  on  that  sad  November,  though  Sandy  was 
tho  wiiter  still.  Tho  two  only  intelhgible  items  of  news 
which  tho  last  one  had  conveyed,  were  repeated  here,  and 
enlarged  upon,  with  reason.  A  new  master  had  come  to  the 
school,  who  was  taking  great  pains  with  all  the  lads,  and  es- 
pecially with  Sandy,  "  as  you  will  see  by  this  letter,  mother," 
ho  wrote,  "  I  hope  it  will  bo  better  worth  reading  than  the 
last." 

If  JNIrs.  Smith  had  changed  her  mind,  it  was  all  for  good. 
Janet  was  no  more  to  thuik  of  her  mother  as  hving  by  her- 
self, in  the  lonely  cot  in  .the  glen,  but  farther  up  in  another 
cottage,  within  sight  of  the  door  of  Saughloas.  And  Sandy 
was  to  go  to  tho  school  a  while  yet,  and  there  was  no  fear 


.  r 


j^vnet'b  love  and  service.  91 

but  somctliing  woiUd  be  fountl  for  liim  to  do,  either  on  the 
farm,  or  in  the  garden.  And  so  his  mother  was  to  set  her 
heart  at  rest  about  them. 

And  her  heart  was  set  at  rest ;  and  Janet  sang  at  her  work 
again,  and  cheered  or  chid  the  banns  accorchng  as  they  need- 
ed,  but  never  more,  though  slio  Iiad  many  cares,  andti-oubles 
not  a  few,  did  the  giant  liold  her  in  his  grasp  again. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14SB0 

(716)  872-4503 


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CHAPTER    XI. 


Mil 
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"  ~\  /T ISS  GRAEME,"  said  Janet,  softly  opening  the  study 
IV I  dooi^  and  looking  in.  Graeme  was  at  her  side  in 
a  moment. 

"  Never  mind  putting  by  your  book,  I  only  want  to  tell 
yon,  that  I  'm  going  up  the  brae  to  see  j\Irs.  Snow  awhile. 
It 's  no'  cold,  and  I  '11  take  the  bairns  with  me.  So  just  give 
a  look  at  the  fire  now  and  then,  and  have  the  kettle  boiling 
gin  tea  time.     I  winna  bide  late." 

Graeme  put  down  her  book,  and  hastened  the  preparations 
of  the  little  cnes. 

"  I  ^dsh  I  could  go  with  you,  Janet.  How  mild  and  bright 
it  is  to-day." 

"  But  your  papa  mustna  be  left  to  the  keeping  of  fires,  and 
the  enteriivUiment  of  chance  visitors.  You  winna  think  long 
with  your  book,  you  ken,  and  we  '11  be  home  again  before  it 's 
dark." 

"  Think  long !'  echoed  Graeme.  "  Not  if  I  'm  left  at  peace 
wiih.  my  book — I  only  hope  no  one  will  come." 

"  My  dear !"  remonstrated  Janet,  "  that 's  no'  hospitable. 
I  daresay  if  anybody  comes,  you  '11  enjoy  their  company  foi 
a  change.  You  maun  try  and  make  fi-iends  with  folk,  Hke 
Menie  here." 

Graeme  laughed.  "  It 's  easy  for  Menie,  she  's  a  child. 
But  I  have  to  behave  myself  like  a  grown  woman,  at  least, 
with  most  folk.  I  would  far  rather  have  the  afternoon  to 
myself." 

She  watched  them  down  the  street,  and  then  betook  her^ 
self  to  her  book,  and  her  accustomed  seat  at  the  study  win- 
dow. Life  was  very  pleasant  to  Graeme,  these  days.  She 
(02) 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SEKVICE. 


93 


did  not  manifest  her  liglit-hcartcdncss  by  outvrard  signs  ;  slic 
•was  almost  always  as  quiet  as  sorrow  and  many  cares  had 
made  her,  since  her  mother's  death.  But  it  was  a  quiet  al- 
ways cheerful,  always  ready,  to  change  to  grave  talk  with 
Janet,  or  merry  play  with  the  little  ones.  Janet's  returning 
cheei'fulness  banished  the  last  shade  of  anxiety  fi*om  her 
mind,  and  she  Avas  too  young  to  go  searching  into  the  future 
for  a  bui'den  to  bear. 

She  was  fast  growing  into  companionship  with  her  father. 
She  knew  that  he  loved  and  tiTisted  her  entirely,  and  she 
strove  to  deserve  his  confidcnc;^.  In  all  matters  concerning 
her  brothers  and  sisters,  ho  coBs;ilted  her,  as  he  might  have 
consulted  her  mother,  and  as  well  as  an  elder  sister  could, 
she  fulfilled  a  mother's  duty  to  them.  In  other  matters,  her 
father  depended  upon  her  Judgment  and  discretion  also. 
Often  he  was  beguiled  into  forgetting  what  a  child  she  still 
was,  while  he  discussed  -with  her,  subjects  more  suited  for 
one  of  maturer  years. 

And  it  was  pleasant  to  be  looked  upon  with  respect  and 
consideration,  by  the  new  friends  they  had  found  here. 
She  was  a  little  more  than  a  child  in  years,  and  shy  and 
doubtful  of  herself  withal,  but  it  was  very  agi-eeable  to  be 
treated  hke  a  woman,  by  the  kind  people  about  her.  Not 
that  she  would  have  confessed  this.  Not  that  she  was  even 
conscious  of  the  pleasure  it  gave  her.  Indeed,  she  was  wont 
to  declare  to  Janet,  in  piivate,  that  it  was  all  nonsense,  and 
she  wished  that  people  would  not  speak  to  her  always,  as 
though  she  were  a  woman  of  wisdom  and  experience.  But 
it  was  agreeable  to  her  all  the  same. 

She  had  her  wish  that  afternoon.  Nobody  came  to  dis- 
turb them,  till  the  faihng  light  admonished  her  that  it  was 
time  to  think  of  Janet,  and  the  tcakL'ttle.  Tlien  there  came 
a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Graeme  opened  it  to  Mr.  Grcenleaf. 
If  she  was  not  glad  to  see  him,  her  looks  behed  her.  He 
did  not  seem  to  doubt  a  welcome  fi'om  her,  or  her  father  either, 
as  he  came  in. 

What  the  charm  was,  that  beguiled  IMr.  Grcenleaf  into 


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94 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SEKVICP:. 


spending  so  many  hours  in  the  minister's  study,  the  good 
people  of  Merlcvillo  found  it  difficult  to  say.  The  squire's 
ill-concealed  mdifference  to  the  opinions  of  people  gener- 
ally, had  told  against  him  always.  For  once,  Mrs.  Page  had 
been  too  charitable.  He  was  not  in  a  hopeful  state,  at  least, 
in  her  sense  of  the  term,  and  it  might  be  doubted,  whether 
fi'equent  intercourse  with  the  minister,  would  be  hkely  to  en- 
courage the  young  man  to  the  attainment  of  IMrs.  Page's 
standard  of  excellence.  But  to  the  study  he  often  came, 
and  he  Avas  never  an  unwelcome  guest. 

"If  I  am  come  at  a  wrong  time,  teU  me  so,"  said  he,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  Mr.  Elhott,  over  a  table  covered  with  books 
and  papers. 

"  You  can  hardly  do  that,"  said  the  minister,  preparing  to 
put  the  books  and  papers  away.  "  I  am  nearly  done  for  the 
night.     Excuse  me,  for  a  minute  only." 

Graeme  lingered  talking  to  their  visitor,  till  her  father 
should  be  quite  at  liberty. 

"  I  have  something  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Greenleaf,  in  a  min- 
ute. Graeme  smiled  her  thanks,  and  held  out  her  hand  for 
the  expected  book,  or  magazine.     It  was  a  note  this  time. 

"From  Celestial"  she  exclaimed,  coloring  a  Uttle. 

Graeme  did  not  aspire  to  the  honor  of  Celestia's  confi- 
dence in  all  things,  but  she  knew,  or  could  guess  enough, 
about  the  state  of  affairs  between  her  fiiend  and  Sir.  Green- 
leaf,  to  be  wonderfully  interested  in  them,  and  she  could  not 
help  feeling  a  little  embarrassed,  as  she  took  the  note  from 
his  hands. 

"  Ecad  it,"  said  he. 

Graeme  stooped  down  to  catch  the  firehght.  The  note 
was  veiy  brief.  Celestia  was  going  away,  and  wished  Graeme 
to  come  and  see  her,  to-morrow.  IVIr.  Greenleaf  would  fetch 
her. 

"  Celestia,  going  away  1"  she  exclaimed,  raising  herself  up. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  have  j^ou  not  heard  it  ?" 
"  I  heard  the  farm  was  to  bo  sold,  but  I  hoped  they  would 
still  btay  iu  Merle ville." 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SEKVICE. 


95 


"  So  did  I,"  said  Mr.  Grcenleaf,  gravely. 

«  AYhcn  ^N  ill  tlioy  go  ?" 

"  Miss  Jones,  is  to  be  a  teaclicr,  in  the  new  seminary  at 
Eixford.  Tlicy  are  going  to  live  there,  and  it  cannot  be  very 
long  before  they  go." 

"To  her  uncle?" 

"No,  Celestia  thinks  her  mother  would  not  bo  happy 
there.     They  will  live  by  themselves,  with  the  childi-en." 

"How  sorry  Celestia  will  be  to  go  away,"  said  Graeme, 
sadly. 

"She  will  not  be  persuaded  to  stay,"  said  IMr.  Groenlcaf. 

Graeme  darted  a  quick,  embanasscd  look  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Have  you  asked  her  ?  "  He  answered  her  in  words. 

"Yes,  I  have  tried,  and  failed.     She  does  not  care  to  stay." 

There  was  only  sadness  in  his  voice  ;  at  least,  she  detected 
nothing  else.  There  was  none  of  the  bitterness  which, 
while  it  made  Cclestia's  heart  ache  that  afternoon,  had  made 
her  all  the  more  determined  to  do  what  she  bcHeved  to  bo 
right. 

"  Oh !  it 's  not  that,"  said  Graeme,  earnestly,  "  I  'm  sure  she 
cares.  I  mean  if  she  goes,  it  will  be  because  she  thinks  it 
right,  not  because  she  wishes  it." 

"  Is  it  right  to  make  herself  and  me  unhappy  ?  " 

"But  her  mother  and  the  rest.  They  are  in  trouble;  it 
would  seem  Hke  forsaking  them." 

"  It  need  not.     They  might  stay  with  her." 

"  I  think,  perhaps — I  don't  think — "  Graeme  hesitated, 
and  then  said  hurriedly, 

"  Are  you  rich,  Mr.  Greenleaf  ?  "    He  laughed. 

"  I  behove  you  are  cne  of  those  who  do  not  compute  riches 
by  the  number  of  dollars  one  possesses.  So  I  thmk,  to  you  I 
may  safely  answer,  yes.  I  have  contentment  with  little,  and 
on  such  wealth  one  pays  no  taxes." 

"Yes;  but — I  thmk, — oh,  I  can't  say  what  I  think;  but, 
I'm  sure  Celestia  is  right.     I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

Mr.  Greenleaf  did  not  look  displeased,  though  Greamc  feared 
he  might,  at  her  bold  speech. 


ii 


i     M 


m 


t! 


06 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


Hi: 


;ii 


ll:', 


.li 


1 


i!.  : 


fill: 


Itl 


"  I  don't  believe  I  had  better  take  you  to  see  her  to-morrow. 
You  will  encourage  her  to  hold  out  against  me." 

"  Not  against  you.  She  would  never  do  that.  And,  besides, 
it  would  make  no  difference.  Celestia  is  wise  and  strong, 
and  will  do  what  she  believes  to  be  right." 

"  Wise  and  strong,"  repeated  Mr.  Greenleaf,  smiling,  but 
his  face  grew  grave  in  a  minute  again.  Mr.  Elliott  made  a 
movement  to  join  them,  and  Graeme  thought  of  her  neglected 
teakettle,  and  hastened  away. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  whispoio  J,  "  it  will  all  end  well.  Things 
always  do  ^hen  people  do  right." 

Mr.  Greenleaf  might  have  some  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of 
this  comforting  declaration  in  all  cases,  but  he  could  have 
none  as  to  the  interest  and  good  wishes  of  his  little  friend,  so 
ho  only  smiled  in  reply.  Not  that  he  had  really  man;y  serious 
doubts  as  to  its  ending  well.  He  had  more  than  once  that 
veiy  afternoon  giieved  Celestia  by  saying  that  she  did  not  care 
for  him;  but,  if  he  had  ever  had  any  serious  trouble  on  the 
subject,  they  vanished  -when  the  first  touch  of  anger  and  dis- 
appointment had  w^orn  away,  giving  him  time  to  acknow- 
ledge and  rejoice  over  the  "  strength  and  wisdom "  so  un- 
hesitatingly asci-jbed  by  Graeme  to  her  friend.  So  that  it 
was  not  at  all  in  a  desponding  spirit  that  he  turned  to  reply, 
when  the  minister  addi'essed  him. 

They  had  scarcely  settled  down  to  one  of  theii*  long,  quiet 
talks,  when  they  were  summoned  to  tea  by  Graeme,  and  be- 
fore tea  was  over,  Janet  and  the  bairns  came  home.  The 
boys  had  found  their  way  up  the  hill  when  school  was  over, 
and  they  all  came  home  together  in  Mr.  Snow's  sleigh.  To 
escape  from  the  noise  and  confusion  which  they  brought  with 
them,  Mr.  (ircenlcaf  and  the  minister  went  into  the  study 


again. 


During  the  silence  that  succeeded  their  enti*ancc,  there 
came  into  Mr.  Greenleaf's  mind  a  thought  that  had  been 
often  there  before.  It  was  a  source  of  ^^onder  to  him  that 
a  man  of  Mr.  Elliott's  intellectual  power  and  cultui'e  should 
content  himself  in  so  quiet  a  place  as  Mcrleville,  and  to-right 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SEKVICE. 


97 


ho  ventiu'cd  to  give  expression  to  his  thouglits,  Mr.  Elliott 
smiled. 

"  I  don't  see  that  my  being  content  to  settle  down  here  for 
life,  is  any  more  wonderful  than  that  you  should  have  done 
so.  Indeed,  I  should  any,  far  less  wonderful.  You  are  young 
and  have  the  world  before  you." 

"  But  my  case  is  quite  different.  I  settle  here  to  get  a 
livmg,  and  I  mean  to  get  a  good  one  too,  and  besides,"  added 
he,  laughing,  "  Merleville  is  as  good  a  place  as  any  other  to  go 
to  Congress  from;  there  is  no  American  but  may  have  that 
before  him  you  know." 

"  As  for  the  living,  I  can  get  here  such  as  will  content  me. 
For  the  rest,  the  souls  in  this  quiet  place  are  as  precious  as 
elsewhere.     I  am  thankful  for  my  field  of  labor. 

]VIr.  Greenleaf  had  heard  such  words  before,  and  he  had 
taken  them  "for  what  they  were  worth,"  as  a  correct  thing 
for  a  minister  to  saCy.  But  the  quiet  earnestness  and  simph- 
city  of  ]Mr.  Elliott's  manner  struck  him  as  being  not  just  a 
matter  of  course. 

"  He  is  in  earnest  about  it,  and  does  not  need  to  use  many 
words  to  prove  it  There  must  be  something  in  it."  He  did 
not  answer  him,  however. 

"There  is  one  thing  which  is  worth  consideration,"  con- 
tinued IVIr.  Elliott,  "  you  may  be  disai)pointed,  but  I  cannot 
be  so,  in  the  nature  of  things." 

"  About  getting  a  living  ?  "  said  IVIr.  Greenleaf,  and  a  vaj^ne 
remembrance  of  Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome  made  him  move 
uneasily  m  his  chair. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  was  thinking  of,  but  I  suppose  I  may 
be  sure  of  that,  too.  *  Yoiu*  bread  shall  be  given  you,  and 
your  water  sure.'  And  there  is  no  such  thing  as  disappoint- 
ment m  that  for  which  I  really  am  labormg,  the  glory  of  God, 
and  the  good  of  souls." 

"  "Well,"  said  Mr.  Greenle.-if,  gTavely,  "  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  it  that  I  don't  see,  or  you  AviU  most  assui'edly  be  dis- 
appointed. It  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  I  may  have 
my  wish,  men  of  humbler  powers  than  mine — I  may  say  it 
5 


I' 


it 


i'r 


S( 


m 


I   n 


If'- 

It 


i 


98 


JAXET  «    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


without  vanity — have  risen  higher  than  to  the  Congress  of 
our  country.  I  don't  look  upon  mine  as  by  any  means  a 
hopeless  ambition.  But  the  idea  of  your  ever  seeing  all  the 
crooked  natm-es  in  Merleville  made  straight !  Well,  to  say 
the  least,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  very  sanguine  about 
it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  that  even  that  is  beyond  my  ambition, 
or  beyond  the  power  of  Him  whom  I  serve  to  accomphsh. 
But  though  I  may  never  see  this,  or  the  half  of  this  accom- 
plished, it  does  not  follow  that  I  am  to  be  disappointed, 
more  than  it  follows  that  your  happiness  will  be  secured 
when  you  sit  in  the  Congress  of  this  gieat  nation,  or  mle  in 
the  AVhite  House  even,  which  is  not  beyond  your  ambition 
either,  I  suppose.  You  know  how  a  promise  may  be  '  kept  to 
the  ear  and  broken  to  the  heart,'  as  somebody  says." 

"  I  know  it  is  the  fashion  to  speak  in  that  way.  We  learn 
in  our  school  books,  all  about  the  foUy  of  ambition,  and  the 
unsatisfying  nature  of  pohtical  greatness.  But  even  if  the 
attainment  must  disappoint,  there  is  interest  and  excitement 
in  the  pursuit.  And,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  it  is  not 
so  in  your  case,  and  to  me  the  disappointment  seems  even 
more  certain." 

Mr.  Elliott  smiled. 

"  I  suppose  the  converse  of  the  poet's  sad  declaration  may 
be  true.  The  promise  may  be  broken  to  the  eye  and  ear,  and 
yet  fulfilled  divinely  to  the  heart.     I  am  not  afraid." 

"  And,  certainly,"  thought  the  young  man,  "  he  looks  calm 
and  hopeful  enough." 

"And,"  added  Mr.  Elliott,  "as  to  the  interest  of  the 
pursuit,  if  that  is  to  be  judged  by  the  importance  of  the  end 
to  be  attained,  I  think  imne  may  well  bear  comparison  to 
yours." 

"  Yes,  in  one  sense,  I  suppose — though  I  don't  understand 
it.  I  can  imagine  an  interest  most  intense,  an  engagement 
— a  happiness  altogether  absorbing  in  such  a  labor  of  love, 
but — I  was  not  looking  at  the  matter  fi'om  your  point  of 
view." 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


90 


"But  from  no  other  j^oint  of  view  can  the  subject  bo  fairly 
seen,"  said  Mr.  Elliott,  quietly. 

"  Well,  I  ha^  3  known  few,  even  among  clergjmcn,  who  have 
not  had  their  eyes  turned  pretty  fi-equently  to  another  side 
of  the  matter.  One  ought  to  be  altogether  above  the  neces- 
sity of  thinking  of  earthly  things,  to  bo  able  to  enjoy  thi'owing 
himself  wholly  into  such  a  work,  and  I  fancy  that  can  be 
said  of  few." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  IVIr.  Elliott.  "Do  you 
mean  that  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of  those  to  whom  you 
refer." 

"  By  no  means.  My  thoughts  were  altogether  in  another 
direction.  Li  fact,  I  Avas  thinking  of  the  great  '  bread  and 
butter '  struggle  in  which  ninety-nine  out  of  eveiy  hundi'ed 
are  for  dear  life  engaged ;  and  none  more  earnestly,  and 
few  with  less  success,  than  men  of  youi'  profession." 

Mr.  Elliott  looked  as  though  he  did  not  yet  quite 
understand.  IMr.  Greenleaf  hesitated,  slightly  at  a  loss,  but 
soon  went  on. 

"  Constituted  as  wo  are,  I  don't  see  how  a  man  ca.n 
wholly  devote  liimself  to  a  work  he  thinks  so  great,  and  yet 
have  patience  to  struggle  with  the  thousand  petty  cares  of 
life.  The  shifts  and  turnings  to  which  insufficient  means 
must  reduce  one,  cannot  but  vex  and  hurt  such  a  nature,  if 
it  does  not  change  it  at  last.  But  I  see  I  fail  to  make  my- 
self understood  by  you  ;  let  me  try  again.  I  don't  know  how 
it  may  be  in  your  country,  but  here,  at  least  as  far  as  my 
personal  obsei^vation  has  extended,  the  remuneration  received 
by  ministers  is  insufficient,  not  to  say  paltry.  I  don't  mean 
that  in  many  cases  they  and  their  families  actually  suifer, 
but  there  are  few  of  them  so  situated  as  regards  income,  that 
economy  need  not  be  the  very  first  consideration  in  all  their 
arrangements.  Comparing  them  with  other  professional 
men  they  may  be  called  poor.  Such  a  thing  as  the  gratifica- 
tion of  taste  is  not  to  be  thought  of  in  their  case.  There  is 
nothing  left  after  the  bare  necessaries  are  secured.  It  is  a 
struggle  to  bring  up  their  childi'en,  a  struggle  to  educate 


I  i 


-  Ill 


i  ^ 


'If 


100 


JANET  8   LtAE   AND   .sEKVlCE. 


0l^ 


iill 


" 

,:i  ^ 

: !:  I 

'1 

i 

-       ■ 
1    ' 

•   ■ 


i  i 


V  i   i 


thcni,  a  struggle  to  live.  And  what  is  worse  than  all,  the 
pittance,  which  is  rijifhtly  their 's,  comes  to  them  often  in  a 
way  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  suggestive  of  charity  given 
and  received.  No,  really,  I  cannot  look  on  the  life  of  a 
ininister  as  a  very  attractive  one." 

"  I  should  think  not,  certainly,  if  such  are  your  views  of 
it,"  said  Mr.  EUiott. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  the  comfort  of  doubting  their  just- 
ness, but  I  cannot,  unless  the  majority  of  cases  that  have 
fallen  under  my  observation  are  extreme  ones.  Why,  there 
are  college  friends  of  mine  who,  in  any  other  profession, 
might  have  distinguished  themselves  —  might  have  become 
wealthy  at  least,  who  are  now  in  some  out  of  the  way  parish, 
with  wives  and  Uttle  children,  biu'dened  with  the  cares  of 
life.  How  they  are  to  struggle  on  in  the  future  it  is  sad  to 
tliink  of.  They  will  either  give  up  the  profession  or  die,  or 
degenerate  into  very  commonplace  men  before  many  years." 

"Unless  they  have  some  charm  against  it — which  may 
very  well  be,"  said  Mr.  Elliott,  quietly. 

"  I  see  you  do  not  agree  with  me.     Take  yourself  for  in- 
stance, or  rather,  let  us  take  your  predecessor.     He  was  a 
good  man,  all  say  who  knew  him  well,  and  with  time  and 
study  he  might  have  proved  himself  a  great  man.     But  if 
ever  a  man's  life  was  a  struggle  for  the  bare  necessaries  of 
life,  his  was,  and  the  culpable  neglect  of  the  people  in  the 
regular  payment  of  his  very  small  salary  was  the  cause  of 
his  leaving  them  at  last.     He  has  since  gone  West,  I  hear,  to 
a  happier  lot  let  us  hope.     The  cu'cumstances  of  his  j)rede- 
cessor  were  no  better.     He  died  here,  and  his  wife  broke 
down  in  a  vain  effort  to  maintain  and  educate  his  children. 
She  was  brought  back  to  Merleville  and  laid  beside  her  hus- 
band less  than  a  year  ago.     There  is  something  wrong  in  the 
matter  somewhere." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Mr.  Greenleaf  continued. 

"  It  may  seem  an  unkindly  effort  in  me  to  try  to  change 
your  views  of  your  future  in  Merleville.  Still,  it  is  bettor 
that  you  should  be  in  some  measure  prepared,  for  what  I 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND   SEKVICl!. 


101 


fear  awaits  you.     Otherwise,  you  might  be  disgiistccl  with 
us  aU." 

"  I  shall  take  refuge  in  the  thought  that  you  are  showing 
me  the  dark  side  of  the  picture,"  said  i\Ir.  Elhott. 

"  Pray  do.  Aud,  indeed,*  I  am.  I  may  have  said  more 
than  enough  in  my  earnestness.  I  am  sure  when  you  really 
come  to  know  oiu'  people,  you  will  hke  them  notwithstand- 
ing things  that  we  might  wish  otherwise." 

"I  hke  you  akeady,"  said  Mr.  Elliott,  smiUng.  "I  assure 
you  I  had  a  great  respect  for  you  as  the  children  of  tlie 
Puritans,  before  ever  I  saw  you." 

"Yes,  but  I  am  afi'aid  you  will  hke  us  less,  before  you 
like  us  better.  We  are  the  childi'en  of  the  Pmitans,  but 
very  httle,  I  daresay,  like  the  grave  gentlemen  up  on  your 
shelves  yonder.  Your  countrymen  are,  at  first,  generally 
disappointed  in  us  as  a  people.  Mind,  I  don't  allow  that  we 
are  in  reahty  less  worthy  of  respect  than  you  kindly  suppose 
us  to  be  for  our  fathers'  sakcs.  But  we  are  different.  It  ia 
not  so  much  that  we  do  not  reach  so  high  a  standard,  as 
that  we  have  a  different  standard  of  excellence — one  that 
your  education,  habits,  and  prepossessions  as  a  people,  do 
not  prepare  you  to  appreciate  us." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Elliott,  as  his  friend  paused. 

"Oh!  I  have  little  more  to  say,  except,  that  what  is 
generally  the  experience  of  yom*  countrymen  will  probably 
be  your's  in  Merle ville.  You  have  some  disappointing  dis- 
coveries to  make  among  us,  you  who  are  an  earnest  man 
and  a  thinker." 

"  I  think  a  want  of  earnestness  can  hardly  be  called  a 
sin  of  your  countrymen,"  said  the  minister. 

"  Earnestness !  "  said  Mr.  Greenleaf .  "  No,  we  are  earnest 
enough  here  in  Merleville.  But  the  most  of  even  the  good  men 
among  us  seem  earnest,  only  in  the  pursuit  of  that,  in  com- 
parison to  which  my  political  aspu'ations  seem  lofty  and 
praiseworthy.  It  is  wealth  they  seek.  Not  that  wealth 
which  will  result  in  magnificent  expenditure,  and  whi(;h,  in 
a  certain  sense,  may  have  a  charm  for  even  high-minded 


i:i 


li 


if. 
11  .ii 


i 


102 


JANKT8   LOVE   AND   SKUVICi:. 


men,  but  nioncy-makinfj  in  its  meanest  form — the  scraping 
toiifcthcr  of  copixT  coins  for  tlicir  own  sakcs.  At  least  ono 
mi^lit  think  so,  for  any  good  they  ever  seem  to  get  of  it." 

"  You  arc  severe,"  said  the  minister,  quietly. 

*'  Not  too  severe.  This  seems  to  be  the  aim  of  all  of  us, 
■whether  wo  are  willing  to  acknowledge  it  or  not.  Ana  such 
a  grovelling  end  will  naturally  make  a  man  unscrupulous  as 
to  the  means  to  attain  it.  There  are  not  many  men  among 
us  here — I  don't  know  more  than  two  or  three — who  would 
not  be  sm'prised  if  you  told  them,  being  out  of  the  pulpit, 
that  they  had  not  a  pcricct  right  to  make  the  very  most  out 
of  their  fiiends — even  by  shaving  closely  in  matters  of  busi- 
ness." 

"  And  yet  you  say  their  standard  is  a  high  one  ?  " 

"  High  or  not,  the  religious  people  among  us  don't  seem 
to  doubt  their  own  Christianity  on  account  of  these  things. 
And  what  is  more,  they  don't  seem  to  lose  faith  in  ca(!h. 
other.     But  how  it  will  all  seem  to  you  is  another  matter." 

"  How  does  it  seem  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  but  a  spectator.  Being  not  one  of  the  initiated, 
I  am  not  supposed  to  understand  the  change  they  i)rofess  to 
have  undergone  ;  and  so,  instead  of  being  m  doubt  about 
particular  cases,  I  am  disposed  to  think  Uttle  of  the  whole 
matter.     With  you  it  is  different." 

"Yes,  with  me  it  is  indeed  diflferent,"  said  the  minister, 
gravely — so  gravely,  that  Mr.  Greenleaf  almost  regi'etted 
having  spoken  so  fieely,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it  was  to 
change  the  subject. 

"  It  must  have  required  a  great  wrench  +o  break  away  from 
yom'  people  and  country  and  old  associations,"  said  he,  in  a 
little.    Mr.  ElHott  stai-ted. 

"  No,  the  wrench  came  before.  It  would  have  cost  me 
more  to  stay  and  grow  old  in  my  own  land  than  it  did  to 
leave  it,  than  it  ever  can  do  to  Hve  and  die  among  strangers." 

Fearful  that  he  had  awakened  painful  thoughts,  Mr.  Green- 
leaf  said  no  more.     In  a  little  Mr.  Elliott  went  on, 

"  It  was  an  old  thought,  this  wishing  to  find  a  home  for 


H.i 


JAKET8    LOVE    AND    SEUVICK. 


103 


our  cliildi'en  in  tliis  grand  now  world.  Wo  had  always  looked 
forward  to  it  soiuctimc.  And  when  I  was  left  alone,  the 
tliou<^lit  of  my  children's  future,  and  the  longing  to  get  away — 
anywhere — brought  me  here." 

He  paused,  and  when  ho  spoke  again  it  was  more  calml}'. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  cowardly  in  me  to  flee.  There  was  help 
for  mo  there,  if  my  faith  had  not  failed.  I  thought  it  would 
be  Ijetter  for  my  cliikh'on  when  I  left  them  to  leave  them 
here.  But  God  knows  it  was  no  desire  to  enrich  myself  that 
brought  me  to  America. 

"  We  can  hve  on  little.  I  trust  you  will  be  mistaken  in 
your  fears.  But  if  these  troubles  do  come,  we  must  try,  with 
God's  grace,  and  Mrs.  Nasmyth's  help,  to  get  through  them 
as  best  we  can.  We  might  not  better  ourselves  by  a  change, 
as  you  seem  to  think  the  evil  a  national  one." 

"The  love  and  pursuit  of  the  'almighty  dollar,' is  most 
certainly  a  national  characteristic.  As  to  tl  ;  bearing  it  r-^ay 
have  in  church  matters  m  other  places,  of  course  I  have  not 
the  nicaii..  of  judgmg.  Here  I  know  it  has  beeii  bad  enough 
ir  the  past." 

"  Well,  I  can  only  say  I  have  found  the  people  most  kind 
and  liberal  hitherto,"  said  Mr.  EUiott, 

"  Have  you  had  a  settlement  with  them  since  you  came  ?" 
asked  the  squire ;  the  remembrance  of  various  remarks  he 
had  heard  of  late  comuig  unpleasantly  to  his  mind. 

"  No,  I  have  not  yet.  But  as  the  half-year  is  nearly  over, 
I  suppose  it  will  come  soon.  Still  I  have  no  fears — I  think 
I  need  have  none.     It  is  not  theirs  but  them  I  seek. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  Sabbath  I  first  camo  among  yon  ? 
I  saw  you  there  among  the  rest.  If  my  heart  rose  up  hi 
thankfulness  to  God  that  day,  it  was  with  no  thought  of  gold 
or  gear.  God  is  my  witness  that  I  saw  not  these  people  as 
possessors  of  houses  and  lands,  but  of  precious  souls — living 
souls  to  bo  encouraged — slumbeiing  souls  to  be  aroused — 
dead  souls  to  be  made  alive  in  Cln-ist,  through  His  own  Word, 
spoken  by  me  and  blessed  by  Him. 

"No,  I  do  not  think  I  can  possibly  be  disajopointed  in  this 


« 


» 


■.^li'] 


104 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


matter.  I  may  have  to  bear  trial,  and  it  may  come  to  me  as 
it  oftcnest  comes  to  God's  peoplc,lQ  the  very  way  that  seems 
hardest  to  bear,  but  God  ivill  bless  his  Word.  And  even  if  I 
do  not  Hve  to  sou  it,  I  can  rest  in  the  assurance  that  after- 
ward, '  both  he  that  soweth  an4  he  that  reapeth  shall  rejoice 
together^^" 

He  paused.  A  momentary  gleam  of  triumph  passed  over 
his  face  and  left  it  peaceful. 

"  The  peace  that  passcth  understanding,*'  thought  the 
young  man,  with  a  sigh.  For  he  could  not  quite  satisfy  him- 
self by  saying,  that  IVIr.  Elliott  was  no  man  of  business,  an 
unworldly  man.  It  came  mto  his  mind  that  even  if  the  min- 
ister were  chasing  a  shadow,  it  was  a  shadow  more  satisfying 
than  his  possible  reahty  of  political  gi-catncss.  So  he  could 
not  but  sigh  as  he  sat  watching  that  peaceful  face.  The  min- 
ister looked  up  and  met  his  eye. 

"  And  so,  my  friend,  I  think  we  must  end  where  we  begun. 
You  may  be  disappointed  even  in  the  fullilhnent  of  your 
hopes.  But  for  me,  aU  must  end  well,  let  tlie  end  be  what  it 
may." 


ii:« 


j;s: 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE  time  of  settlement  came  at  last.  The  members  of 
the  church  and  congi-egation  were  requested  to  bring 
to  Deacon  Sterne  and  his  coadjutors  an  account  of  money 
and  produce  already  paid  by  each,  and  also  a  statement  of 
the  sum  they  intended  to  subscribe  for  the  minister's  suppoi-t 
during  the  ensuing  half  year.  After  a  delay  which,  consid- 
ering all  things,  was  not  more  than  reasonable,  this  was  done, 
and  the  diliterent  accounts  being  put  into  regular  form  by  the 
proper  persons,  they  were  laid  before  the  minister  for  his 
inspection  and  approval. 

This  was  done  by  Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome  alone. 
Deacon  Sterne,  as  his  brethren  in  office  intimated  to  Mrs. 
Nasmyth,  when  she  received  them,  having  just  then  his 
hands  full  of  his  own  affairs.  Deacon  Fish  "  expected"  that 
brother  Sterne  had  got  into  trouble.  It  had  been  coming  on 
for  some  time.  Hi?  son,  the  only  boy  he  had  left,  had  been 
over  to  Eixford,  and  had  done  somethmg  dreadful,  folks  said, 
he  did  not  exactly  know  what,  and  the  deacon  had  gone  over 
to  see  about  it.  Deacon  Sterne  was  Janet's  favorite  among 
the  men  in  office,  and  apart  from  her  regret  that  he  should 
not  bo  present  on  an  occasion  so  important,  she  was  gi'eatly 
concerned  for  him  on  his  own  account. 

"  Dear  me !"  said  she,  "  I  saw  him  at  the  kirk  on  the  Sab- 
bath-day, looking  just  as  usual." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  expect  so,"  said  Mr.  Fish.  "  Brother  Steme 
looks  always  pretty  much  so.  He  aiut  apt  to  show  his  fcel- 
in's,  if  he 's  got  any.  He  '11  have  something  to  suffer  with  his 
son  Wilham,  I  guess,  whether  he  shows  it  or  not." 

Janet  liked  both  father  and  son,  though  it  was  well  known 
6*  (105) 


t 


yMi^ — 


anil 


lOG 


JANET  S   LOVE  AND  SEEVICE. 


!■ 


in  the  town  that  there  was  trouble  between  them ;  so  instead 
of  making  any  answer,  she  hastened  to  usher  them  into  tho 
study.  The  minister  awaited  them,  and  business  began.  First 
was  (hsj)layed  the  list  of  subsci-iptions  for  the  commg  half- 
year.  This  was  quite  encouraging.  Three  hundred  and  fifty 
and  odd  dollars.  This  looked  well.  There  had  never  been 
so  much  subscribed  in  MerleviUe  before.  The  deacons  were 
elated,  and  evidently  expected  that  the  minister  should  be  so,* 
too.  He  would  be  well  off  now,  said  they.  But  the  minister 
was  always  a  quiet  man,  and  said  little,  and  the  last  half- 
yeai''s  settlement  was  turned  to. 

There  were  several  sheets  of  it.  The  minister  in  danger 
of  getting  be^vildered  among  the  items,  turned  to  the  sum 
total.  "  Two  hundi-ed  and  seventy-two  dollars,  sixty-two  and 
a-half  cents."     He  was  a  httle  mystified  still,  and  looked  so. 

"  If  there  is  anything  wrong,  anything  that  you  object  to, 
it  must  be  put  right,"  said  Deacon  Slowcome. 

Deacon  Fish  presumed,  "  that  when  Mr.  EUiott  should  have 
compared  it  with  the  accoimt  which  he  had  no  doubt  kept,  it 
would  be  found  to  be  all  right." 

Mr.  Elliott  had  to  confess  that  no  such  account  had  been 
kept.  He  supposed  it  was  all  it  should  be.  He  really  could 
say  notlung  with  regard  to  it.  He  left  the  management  of 
household  afiau's  entirely  to  his  daughter  and  Mrs.  Nasmyth. 
It  was  suggested  that  Mrs.  Nasmyth  should  be  called  in,  and 
the  deacon  cleared  his  voice  to  read  it  to  her. 

"  If  there 's  anything  you  don't  seem  to  understand  or  re- 
member," prefaced  the  accommodating  Deacon  Slowcome, 
"  don't  feel  troubled  about  saymg  so.  I  expect  we  '11  make 
things  i^retty  straight  after  a  while." 

Mi's.  Nasmyth  looked  at  the  minister,  but  the  minister 
did  not  look  at  her,  and  the  reading  began.  After  the  name 
of  each  person,  came  the  days'  work,  horse  hire,  loads  of  fire- 
wood, bushels  of  corn,  pounds  of  butter  and  cheese,  sugar 
and  dried  apples,  which  he  or  she  had  contributed.  Doacou 
Fish's  subscription  was  chiefly  i>aid  by  his  horse  and  his  cow. 
The  former  had  carried  the  minister  on  two  or  three  of  his 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SEKVICE. 


107 


most  distant  visits,  and  the  latter  had  supplied  a  quart  or 
two  of  milk  daily  diu'ing  a  great  part  of  the  winter.  It  was 
overpaid  indeed  by  just  seventeen  and  a-haK  cents,  which, 
however,  the  deacon  seemed  inclined  to  make  light  of. 

"  There  ain't  no  matter  about  it.  It  can  go  right  on  to 
the  next  half  year.  It  ain't  no  matter  about  it  anyhow," 
said  he,  in  liberal  mood. 

He  had  an  attentive  hstener.  Mrs.  Nasmyth  listened  with 
vain  effoi-ts  not  to  let  her  face  betray  her  utter  bewilderment 
at  the  whole  proceeding,  only  assenting  briefly  when  Mr. 
Slowcome  interrupted  the  reading,  now  and  then,  to  say 
interrogatively, 

"  You  remember  ?  " 

It  uawned  upon  her  at  last  that  these  were  the  items  that 
made  up  the  subscription  for  the  half  year  that  was  over ; 
but  except  that  her  face  changed  a  little,  she  gave  no  sign. 
It  is  possible  the  deacon  had  had  some  slight  misgiving  as  to 
how  ]Mrs.  Nasmyth  might  receive  the  statement ;  certainly  his 
voice  took  a  relieved  tone  as  he  drew  near  the  end,  and  at 
last  read  the  sum  total :  "  Two  hundred  and  seventy-two 
dollars  sixty-two  and  a-half  cents." 

Again  Janet's  eye  sought  the  minister's,  and  this  time  he 
did  not  avoid  her  look.  The  rather  pained  surprise  had  all 
gone  out  of  his  face.  Intense  amusement  at  Janet's  chang- 
ing face,  on  which  bewilderment,  incredulity  and  indigna- 
tion were  successively  v»?ritten,  banished,  for  a  moment, 
ever  other  feeling.  But  that  passed,  and  by  the  look  that 
followed  Janet  knew  that  she  must  keep  back  the  words  that 
were  rising  to  her  lips.  It  required  an  effort,  however,  and  a 
rather  awkward  silence  followed.  Deacon  Slowcome  fipdko 
first: 

"Well,  I  suppose,  we  may  consider  that  it  stands  all 
right.    And  I,  for  one,  feel  cncom'aged  to  expect  great  things." 

"  I  doubt,  sirs,"  said  Janet  in  a  voice  ominously  mild  and 
civil,  "  there  are  some  things  that  hacna  been  put  down  on 
yon  paper.  There  was  a  curn  apples,  and  a  bit  o'  unco  spare 
rib,  and " 


i 


iv! 


lii 


108 


JANETS    LOVK    A^'D   SERVICE. 


"  Well,  it 's  possible  there  are  some  folks  ain't  sent  in 
tlieii*  accounts  yet.     That  can  be  seen  to  another  time." 

Janet  paid  no  attention  to  the  interruption. 

"  There  were  some  eggs  from  Mrs.  Stenie — a  dozen  and 
three,  I  think — and  a  goose  at  the  New  Year  fi'om  somebody 
else  ;  and  your  wife  sent  a  pumpkLn-i)ie  ;  and  there  was 
the  porridge  and  milk  that  Judge  Merle  brought  over  when 
fii'st  we  came  here " 

"  Ah !  the  pie  was  a  present  from  my  wife,"  said  Deacon 
Fish,  on  whom  Mrs.  Nasmyth's  awful  irony  was  quite  lost. 

"  And  i  presume  Judge  Merle  did  n't  mean  to  charge  for 
the  pcnidge,  or  hominy,  or  whatever  it  was,"  said  Deacon 
Slowcome. 

"  And  what  for  no'  ?  "  demanded  Janet,  turning  on  him 
sharply.  "  I  'm  sure  we  got  far  more  good  and  pleasure 
from  it  than  ever  we  got  o'  youi*  bloody  fore-quarter  of  beef, 
that  near  scunnered  the  bairns  ere  we  were  done  witli  it. 
Things  should  stand  on  your  papers  at  their  true  value." 

Deacon  Slowcome  was  not,  in  reality,  more  surprised  at 
this  outbreak  than  he  had  been  when  his  "  fore-quarter  of 
bloody  beef"  had  been  accepted  unchallenged,  but  he  professed 
to  be  so  ;  and  in  his  elaborate  astonishment  allowed  Janet's 
remarks  about  a  slight  mistake  she  had  made,  and  about  the 
impropriety  of  "  looking  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth  "  to  pass 
unanswered. 

"  You  were  at  liberty  to  return  the  beef  if  you  did  n't  want 
it,"  said  he,  with  an  injui'ed  air. 

"  Weel,  I  '11  mind  that  next  time,"  said  she,  in  a  milder 
tone,  by  no  means  sui'e  how  the  minister  might  approve  of 
her  plain  speaking.     Deacon  Fish  made  a  diversion  in  favor 
of  peace,  by  holding  up  the  new  subsci-iption-hst,  and  asking 
her  triumphantly  if  that  "  did  n't  look  well.  " 

"Ay,  on  paper,"  said  Janet,  dryly.  *'  Figui-es  are  no'  dol- 
lars. And  if  your  folk  have  been  thinking  that  the  minister 
and  his  family  hae  been  li\'ing  only  on  the  bits  o'  things  writ- 
ten down  on  your  paper  you  are  mistaken.  The  gude  money 
that  has  helped  it  has  been  worth  far  more  than  the  like  o' 


JANET  ri    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


109 


that,  as  I  ken  wecl,  who  hae  had  the  spending  o'  it ;  but  I 
daresay  you  're  no'  needing  me  longer,  sir,"  she  added,  ad- 
di'essiug  the  minister,  and  she  ^ef ••  the  room. 

This  matter  was  not  alluded  to  again  for  several  days,  but 
it  did  Janet  a  deal  of  good  to  think  about  it.  She  had  no 
time  to  mdulge  in  homesick  musings,  with  so  defhiite  a  sul> 
ject  of  indignant  speculation  as  the  meamiess  of  the  deacons. 
She  "  was  nettled  at  herself  beyond  aU  patience  "  that  she 
should  have  allowed  herself  to  fancy  that  so  many  of  the 
things  on  the  paper  had  been  tokens  of  the  people's  good- 
\vill. 

"  Two  himdred  and  seventy  dollars  and  more,"  she  re- 
peated. '*  Things  mount  up,  I  ken  weel ;  but  I  maun  take 
another  look  at  it  And  1 11  hae  more  sense  anither  time, 
I  'm  thinking." 

She  did  not  speak  to  Graeme.  There  would  be  no  use  to 
vex  her  ;  but  she  would  fain  have  had  a  few  words  ^^'ith  the 
minister,  but  his  manner  did  not  encourage  her  to  introduce 
the  subject.  A  circumstance  soon  occurred  which  gave  her 
an  opening,  and  the  subject,  fi'om  fii'st  to  last,  was  thorouglily 
discussed. 

Mai'ch  was  nearly  over.  The  nights  were  cold  still,  but 
the  sun  was  powerful  durmg  the  day,  and  there  were  many 
tokens  that  the  earth  was  about  to  wake  fi'om  her  long  sleep 
and  prepare  for  the  refreshment  of  her  childi'en.  "And 
time  for  her,"  sighed  Janet,  taking  a  retrospective  view  of  all 
that  had  hapjoened  since  she  saw  her  face. 

The  boys  had  been  thrown  into  a  state  of  gTeat  excite- 
ment by  a  proposal  made  to  them  by  their  fiiend  Mr.  Snow. 
Ho  had  offered  to  give  them  sixty  of  the  best  trees  in  his 
sugar  place,  with  all  the  articles  necessary  to  the  making  of 
sugar,  on  terms  that,  to  them,  seemed  easy  enough.  They 
were  to  make  thou*  own  preparations,  gather  the  sap,  cut 
their  owai  wood,  in  short,  carry  on  the  business  entu'oly 
themselves ;  and,  nothing  daunted,  they  went  the  veiy  first 
fine  day  to  see  the  gi-ound  and  Make  a  bcgmning.  Graeme 
and  the  other  gu'ls  went  with  them  as  far  as  Mr.  Snow'a 


I     :i 


110 


JANET  B    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


i,'  1-i'i 


house,  and  Janet  was  left  alone.  The  minister  was  in  his 
study  as  usual,  and  when  thoy  were  all  gone,  uncomfortable 
with  the  unaccustomed  quietness  of  the  house,  she  arose  and 
went  to  the  door  and  looked  rather  sadly  down  the  street. 
She  had  not  long  to  indulge  her  feelings  of  loneliness,  how- 
ever. A  sleigh  came  slowly  gi'ating  along  the  half-bare 
street,  and  its  occupant,  IVIi'.  Silas  Spears,  not  one  of  her 
favorites,  stopped  before  the  door,  and  lost  no  time  in 
"hitching"  liis  horse  to  the  post.  Janet  set  him  a  chair, 
and  waited  for  the  accustomed  question  whether  the  minister 
was  at  homo,  and  whether  he  could  see  him. 

"  The  body  has  some  sense  and  discretion,"  said  Janet  to 
herself,  as  he  annoimced  instead  that  he  "  wa'ant  a  going  to 
stay  but  a  minute,  and  it  would  n't  be  worth  while  troubhng 
the  minister."  He  did  stay,  however,  telling  news  and  ;giving 
liis  opinion  on  matters  and  things  in  general  in  a  way  which 
was  tolerable  to  Janet  m  her  solitude.  Ho  rose  to  go  at 
last. 

*•■  I  *ve  got  a  bucket  of  sugar  out  here,"  said  ho.  "  Our  folks 
did  n't  seem  to  want  it,  and  I  thought  I  'd  fetch  it  along  down. 
I  took  it  to  Cook's  store,  but  they  did  n't  want  it,  and  they 
did  n't  care  enough  about  it  at  Sheldon's  to  want  to  pay  for 
it,  so  I  thought  I  might  as  well  turn  it  in  to  -pay  my  minis- 
ter's tax." 

So  in  he  came  within  a  minute. 

"  There  's  just  exactly  twenty-nine  pounds  with  the  bucket. 
Sugar 's  been  sellin'  for  twelve  and  a-half  this  winter,  and  I 
guess  I  ought  to  have  that  for  it,  then  we  '11  bo  about  even, 
according  to  my  calculation." 

"Sugar!"  ejaculated  Janet,  touching  the  solid  black  mass 
with  her  finger.     "  Call  you  that  sugar  ?  " 

"  "VMiy,  yes,  I  call  it  sugar.  IVot  the  best,  maybe,  but  it 's 
better  than  it  looks.  It  '11  be  considerable  whiter  by  the  time 
you  di'ain  it  off,  I  expect." 

"  And  weigh  considerable  lighter,  I  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Nas- 
myth,  unconsciously  imitating  Mr.  Spears'  tone  and  manner 
in  her  rising  wrath.     "  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  but 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


Ill 


we  'ro  in  no  especial  need  o'  sugar  at  this  time,  and  we  11  do 
without  a  while  before  we  spend  good  siller  on  stuff  lilco 
that." 

"  Well,  I  '11  say  eleven  cents,  or  maybe  ten,  as  sugarin' 
time  is  most  here.  It  ain't  first  rate,"  ho  added,  candidly. 
"It  mightn't  just  do  for  tea,  but  it's  as  good  as  any  to 
sweeten  pies  and  cakes." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you.  But  we  're  no'  given  to  the  makin' 
o'  j)ies  and  cakes  in  this  house.  Plain  bread,  or  a  sup  por- 
ridge and  milk  dOv  s  for  as,  and  it 's  mair  than  we  're  like  to 
get,  if  things  dinna  mend  with  us.  So  you  '11  just  take  it 
with  you  again." 

"  AVell,"  said  Mr.  Spears,  slightly  at  a  loss,  "  I  guess  I  '11 
leave  it.  I  ain't  particular  about  the  price  Mr.  Elhott  can 
allow  me  what  he  thinks  it  worth,  come  to  use  it.  I'll  leave 
it  anyhow." 

"  But  you  '11  no'  leave  it,  with  my  consent.  Deacon  Slow- 
come  said  the  minister  wasna  needing  co  take  anything  he 
didna  want,  and  the  like  o'  that  wo  could  make  no  use  of." 

"  The  deacon  might  have  said  that  in  a  general  kind  of 
way,  but  I  rather  g-uess  he  did  n't  mean  you  to  take  him  up 
so.  I  've  been  calculating  to  pay  my  minister's  tax  with  that 
sugar,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  've  got  anything  else  handy. 
I  'U  leave  if,  and  if  you  don't  conclude  to  keep  it,  you  better 
speak  to  the  deacon  about  it  and  maybe  he  '11  give  you  the 
money  for  it.     I  'U  leave  it  anyhow." 

"  But  you  '11  no  leave  it  here,"  exclo.imed  Mrs.  Nasmyth, 
v/hoso  patience  was  not  proof  against  his  persistence,  and 
seizing  the  bucket,  she  rushed  out  at  the  door,  and  deposit- 
ing it  in  the  sleigh,  was  in  again  before  the  astonished  Mr. 
Spears  quite  realized  her  intention. 

"  You  '11  no'  find  me  failing  in  my  duty  to  the  minister,  as 
I  hae  done  before,"  exclaimed  she,  a  httle  breatliless  with  the 
exei-tion.  "If  the  minister  canna  hae  his  stipend  paid  in 
good  siller  as  he  has  been  used  wi',  he  shall  at  least  hae  nae 
trash  like  yon.  So  dinna  bring  here  again  what  ither  folk 
wi^na  hae  from  you,  for  x  '11  hae  none  o'  it." 


I 


!? 


112 


.TANKT  S    LOVE    AND    SEUVICK. 


i  % 


>*  i 


*'I  should  like  to  sec  tho  minister  a  rninuto,"  said  Mr. 
Spears,  seatiji*,'  himself  with  dignity.  "I  don't  consider  that 
you  are  tho  one  to  settle  this  business." 

"  There 's  many  a  thmg  that  .you  dinna  consider  that 
there  's  sense  in,  notwithstandhig.  It 's  just  me  that  is  to 
decide  this  l)nsin(\ss,  and  a'  business  where  tho  minister's 
welfare,  as  regards  meat  and  th-ink,  is  concerned.  So  dinna 
fash  yourscK  and  me  mair  about  it." 

"  I  'd  like  to  sec  him,  anyhow,"  said  he,  taking  a  step  to- 
wards the  study  door. 

"  But  you  '11  no'  see  him  about  any  such  matter,"  and 
Janet  placed  herself  before  him.  "  I  'm  no'  to  hac  tho  minis- 
ter vexed  with  the  Uke  o'  that  nonsense  to-night,  or  any 
night.  I  wonder  you  dinna  think  shame,  to  hold  up  your 
face  to  me,  forby  the  minister.  What  kens  the  minister 
about  the  Uke  o'  that?  He  has  other  things  to  think  about. 
It 's  'wecl  that  there  's  aye  me  to  stand  between  him  and  the 

like  o'  you  '  glcgs  and  corbies  ' . "    And  Janet,  as  her 

manner  was,  when  excited,  degenerated  into  Scotch  to  such 
a  degree,  that  her  oiiponent  forgot  his  indignation  in  astonish- 
ment, and  hstened  in  silence.  Janet  was  successful.  IMr. 
Spears  was  utterly  Jionplusscd,  and  took  his  way  homeward, 
by  no  means  sure  that  he  had  n't  been  abused.  *'  Consider- 
able beat,  anyhow." 

Scarcely  had  he  taken  his  departure,  when  Mr.  Elliott 
made  his  ai:)pearaiice,  having  had  some  idea  that  something 
unusual  had  been  going  on.  Though  loth  to  do  so,  Janet 
thought  best  to  give  a  faithful  account  of  what  had  taken 
place.  He  laughed  heartily  at  her  success  and  Mr.  Spears' 
discomfitm-e,  but  it  was  easy  to  sec  he  was  not  quite  at  his 
ease  about  the  matter. 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  knov/  how  all  this  will  end,"  he  said, 
gi'avely,  after  a  minute. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  need  be  at  no  loss  about  that.  It  will 
end  in  a  '  toom  pantry  '  for  us,  and  that  before  very  long." 

This  was  the  begimiing  of  a  conversation  with  regard  to 
theu'  affaiis,  that  lasted  till  the  children  came  home.     Much 


JAN  FT  S    LOVE    AND    SKRVICK 


113 


earnest  tlionght  did  the  minister  bestow  on  tlio  snhjoct  for 
the  next  throe  days,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth,  at  the 
close  of  a  full  conference  meeting,  when  most  of  the  moinl)ers 
of  the  church  were  present,  the  result  of  his  meditations  was 
given  to  the  public.  He  did  not  use  many  words,  but  they 
were  to  the  point. 

Ho  told  them  of  the  settlement  for  the  past,  and  the  pros- 
pect for  the  future.  He  told  them  that  the  value  to  his 
family  of  the  articles  brought  in,  was  not  equal  to  their  value, 
as  named  in  the  subscription  hsts,  then*  real  value  he  sup- 
posed. They  could  not  live  in  comfort  on  these  tcnns,  and 
they  should  never  try  it.  He  had  a  proposal  to  make  to 
them.  The  deacon  had  estimated  that  an  annual  amoimt 
equal  to  seven  lumdred  dollars  could  be  raised.  Let  each 
subsciiber  deduct  a  seventh  part  of  what  he  had  promised  to 
pay,  and  let  the  remainder  be  paid  in  money  to  the  treasurer, 
so  that  he  might  receive  his  salary  in  quarterly  payments. 
This  would  be  the  means  of  avoiding  much  that  was  annoy- 
ing to  all  parties,  and  was  the  only  terms  on  which  he  would 
think  it  wise  to  remain  in  Morleville. 

He  alluded  to  a  report  that  had  lately  reached  him,  as  to 
his  having  money  invested  in  Scotland.  In  the  hand  of  a 
friend  he  had  deposited  sufficient  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
his  eldest  son,  until  his  education  should  be  completed.  He 
had  no  more.  The  comfort  of  his  family  must  depend  upon 
his  salary  ;  and  what  that  was  to  be,  and  how  it  was  to  be 
paid,  must  be  decided  without  loss  of  time. 

He  said  just  two  or  three  words  about  his  wish  to  stay, 
about  the  love  he  felt  for  many  of  them,  and  of  his  earnest 
desire  to  benefit  them  all.  He  had  no  other  desire  than  to 
cast  in  his  lot  with  theu's,  and  to  live  and  die  among  them. 
But  no  real  imion  or  confidence  could  bo  maintained  between 
them,  while  the  matter  of  support  was  liable  at  any  moment 
to  become  a  som-ce  of  discomfort  and  misunderstanduig  to  all 
concerned.  He  added,  that  as  so  many  were  present,  perhaps 
no  better  time  than  to-night  could  be  found  for  arranguig  the 
matter,  and  so  he  left  them. 


'    i 


114 


JANET  a    LOVE    AND    BF.RVICE. 


r 


There  was  quite  a  gathering  that  night.  Judge  Merle  was 
there,  and  the  deacons,  and  the  Pages,  and  Mr.  Spears,  and 
a  great  many  besides.  Behind  the  door,  in  a  comer  seat,  sat 
Mr.  Snow,  and  near  him,  Mr.  Greenleaf.  He  evidently  felt 
he  was  not  expected  to  remain,  and  made  a  movement  to  go, 
but  Sampson  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Hold  on,  S(iuii'e,"  he  whispered  ;  "  as  like  as  not  tliey  'd 
spare  us,  but  I  'm  bound  to  see  this  through." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  Deacon  Fish  got  up  and 
cleared  his  throat,  and  "  felt  as  though  ho  felt,"  and  went 
over  much  gi'ound,  without  accomphshing  much.  Deacon 
Slowcome  did  pretty  much  the  same.  Judge  Merle  came  a 
little  nearer  the  mark,  and  when  he  sat  down,  there  was  a 
movement  behind  the  door,  and  Sampson  Snow  rose  and 
stepped  out.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  door  latch,  and  then 
turned  round  and  opened  his  lips. 

"  I  expect  you  '11  all  think  it  ain't  my  place  to  speak  in 
meetin',  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  a  great  deal.  It 's  no  more 
than  two  houf s  or  so  since  I  got  home  from  Eixford,  and 
Squire  Stone,  he  told  me  that  their  minister  had  given  notice 
that  he  was  goin'  to  quit.  Gom'  to  Boston,  I  guess.  And 
the  Squire,  says  he  to  me,  '  We  've  a  notion  of  talking  a  little 
to  your  "Mr.  Elliott,'  and  says  he,  'We  wouldn't  begrudge 
him  a  thousand  dollars  cash  down,  and  no  mistake.'  So  now 
don't  worry  any  about  the  minister.  He 's  all  right,  and 
worth  his  pay  any  day.  That 's  all  I  've  got  to  say,"  and  Mr. 
Snow  opened  the  door  and  walked  out. 

Sampson's  speech  was  short,  but  it  was  the  speech  of  the 
evening,  and  told.  That  night,  or  within  a  few  days,  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the  carrying  out  of  the  plan  suggested 
by  IMr.  Elliott,  with  this  difference,  that  the  seventh  part  was 
not  to  be  deducted  because  of  money  payment.  And  the 
good  people  of  MerleviUe  did  not  regret  their  promptitude, 
when  the  very'  next  week  there  came  a  dej)utation  from  Rix- 
ford,  to  ascertain  whether  JVIr.  Elliott  was  to  remain  in  Merle- 
viUe, and  if  not,  whether  he  would  accept  an  invitation  to 
settle  in  the  larger  town. 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


115 


Mr.  Elliott's  answer  was  brief  and  decided.  Ho  had  no 
wish  to  leave  Merlcville  while  the  people  wished  him  tore- 
main.  He  hoped  never  to  leave  them  while  he  lived.  And 
he  never  did. 


i     « 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


^  PRING  came  and  went.  The  lads  distinguished  them- 
^^^  solves  both  ft)!*  the  quantity  and  quality  of  their  sugar, 
and  highly  enjoyed  the  work  besides.  The  free  out-of-door 
life,  the  camping  in  the  woods  beside  a  blazmg  fire,  and  the 
company  of  the  village  lads  who  daily  and  nightly  crowded 
around  them,  charincd  them  from  all  other  pursuits.  Mr. 
Foster  and  his  mathematics  were  sadly  neglected  in  these 
days.  In  future  they  were  to  devote  themselves  to  agricul- 
tm-e. 

In  vam  Janet  hinted  that  "  new  tilings  aye  pleased  light 
heads,"  and  warned  them  that  they  were  deciding  too  soon. 
In  vain  Mr.  Snow  said  that  it  was  not  sugaring  time  all  the 
year;  and  that  they  should  smnmer  and  winter  among  the 
hills  before  they  committed  themselves  to  a  farmer's  life. 
Hany  quoted  Cincinnatus,  and  Norman  proved  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  if  not  to  Mr.  Snow's,  that  on  scientific  principles 
every  fann  in  MerlevHle  could  be  cultivated  with  half  the  ex- 
pense, and  double  the  jorofits.  Even  their  father  was  carried 
away  by  theu'  enthusiasm;  and  it  is  to  be  feared,  that  if  he 
had  had  a  fortune  to  invest,  it  would  have  been  bmied  for 
ever  among  these  beautiful  hills  of  Merleville. 

An  opportunity  to  test  the  strength  of  the  lads'  determina- 
tion, came  m  a  manner  wliich  involved  less  risk  than  a  purchase 
would  have  done.  Early  in  May  a  letter  was  received  from 
Mr.  Ross,  in  which  he  offered  to  take  the  charge  of  Arthur's 
education  on  himself,  and  as  he  was  well  able  to  do  §o,  Mr. 
Elliott  saw  no  reason  for  refusing  the  oflfer.  The  money, 
therefore,  that  he  had  set  apart  for  his  son's  use,  returned  to 
(116) 


Janet's  lovk  and  service. 


•  117 


his  hands,  and  he  did  a  wiser  thing  than  to  invest  it  either  in 
mountain  or  valley. 

It  came,  about  this  time,  to  the  worst,  with  Mrs.  Jones  and 
her  daughter  Celcstia.  Tlie  mortgage  on  the  farm  could  not 
be  paid,  even  the  interest  had  fallen  far  belund,  and  Sciuiro 
Skmflint  had  foreclosed.  Nothing  remained  for  the  widow, 
but  to  save  what  she  could  from  the  wreck  of  a  properly  tliat 
ha<l  once  been  large,  and  go  away  to  seek  a  new  home  for  her- 
self and  hor  children.  On  the  homestead  she  was  about  to 
leave,  the  heart  and  eyes  of  Mr.  Snow  had  long  been  fixed. 
As  a  relation  of  the  widow,  he  had  done  what  could  be  done, 
both  by  advice  and  assistance,  to  avert  the  evil  day;  but  the 
widow  was  no  farmer,  and  her  boys  were  children,  and  the 
longer  she  kept  the  place,  the  more  she  must  uivolve  herself; 
and  now,  that  the  land  must  pass  from  her  hands,  Sampson 
would  fain  have  it  pass  into  his.  But  the  only  condition  of 
sale  was  fo  ready  money,  and  this  without  great  sacrifice  ho 
could  not  obtain.  Meanwhile,  othci's  were  considering  the 
matter  of  the  purchase,  and  the  time  was  short;  for  there  had 
been  some  failure  in  Squire  Skinflint's  Western  land  specula- 
tion, and  money  must  be  had.  If  the  widow  could  have  held 
it  still,  Mr.  Snow  would  never  have  desu-ed  to  have  the  land ; 
but  what  with  the  many  thoughts  he  had  given  to  it,  and 
the  fear  of  getting  bad  neighbors,  he  had  about  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  farm  at  all,  unless 
he  could  have  the  two  fanns  put  into  one. 

Just  at  this  juncture,  the  minister  surprised  him  greatly 
by  asking  his  advice  about  the  investment  of  the  money 
wliich  his  brother-in-law's  generosity  had  placed  at  his  dis- 
posal. A  very  few  words  settled  the  matter.  Tlie  minister 
lent  the  money  fo  Mr.  Snow,  and  for  the  annual  interest  of 
the  same,  he  was  to  have  the  use  of  the  farm-house  and  the 
ten  acres  of  meadow  and  pasture  land,  that  lay  between  it  and 
the  pond.  The  arrangement  was  in  all  respects  advantageous 
to  both  parties,  and  before  May  was  out,  the  little  brown 
house  behind  the  elms,  was  left  in  silence,  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  next  chance  tenants;  and  the  pleasiu'able  ex- 


>i    ^^ 


118. 


JANKT  S   LOVE   AND   SKRVICE. 


citcmont  of  settling  down  iu  their  now  home,  filled  the  minds 
of  Jiinet  and  the  bairns. 

And  a  very  pleasant  home  it  promised  to  bo.  Even  in  that 
beautiful  land  of  mountain  and  valley  they  would  have  sought 
in  vain  for  a  lovelier  spot.  Sheltered  by  liigh  hills  from  the 
bleak  winds  of  the  north  and  east,  it  was  Gtill  siifiiciently 
elevated  to  permit  a  wide  view  of  the  farms  and  forests  around 
it.  Close  below,  ^\dtl^  only  a  short,  steep  bank,  and  a  wide 
stri])  of  meadow  land  between,  lay  Merle  pond,  the  very  love- 
liest of  the  many  lovely  lakelets,  hidden  away  among  these 
momitains.  Over  on  the  rising  ground  beyond  the  pond  stood 
the  meetinghouse,  and  scattered  to  the  right  and  left  of  it  were 
the  white  houses  of  the  village,  half  hidden  by  the  tall  elms 
and  maples  that  fringed  the  village  street.  Close  by  the 
farmhouse,  between  it  and  the  thic-k  pine  grove  on  the  hill,  ran 
Carson's  brook,  a  stream  which  chd  not  disappear  in  suunner- 
timc,  as  a  good  many  of  those  hill  streams  are  aj^t  to  do, 
and  which,  for  several  months  in  the  jear,  was  ahnost  as 
worthy  of  the  name  of  river  as  the  Merle  itself.  Before  the 
house  was  a  large  grassy  yard,  having  many  rose  bushes  and 
lilac  ti'eos  scattered  along  the  fences  and  the  path  that  led 
to  the  door.  There  were  shade  trees,  too.  Once  they  had 
stood  in  regular  lines  along  the  road,  and  round  the  largo 
garden.  Some  of  these  had  been  injured  because  of  the  hi- 
sufficient  fences  of  late  years;  buu  those  that  remained  were 
trees  worthy  of  the  name  of  trees.  There  wore  elms  whose 
branches  nearly  touched  each  other,  fi'om  ojiposite  sides  of 
the  wide  yard;  and  great  maples  that  grew  as  symmetrically 
in  the  open  space,  as  though  each  spring  they  had  been  clip- 
ped and  cared  for  by  experienced  hands.  There  had  been 
locusts,  once;  but  the  old  trees  had  mostly  died,  and  there 
were  only  a  few  yomig  ones  springing  up  here  and  there,  but 
they  were  trees  before  the  cliilch'on  went  away  from  the  place 
which  they  were  now  beginning  to  look  upon  as  home. 

Formerly,  there  had  been  a  large  and  handsome  garden 
laid  out  at  the  end  of  the  house,  but  since  trouble  had  come 
on  the  family,  its  cultivation  had  been  cousidered  too  much 


JANETS    LOVK    AND    SKIiVICE. 


119 


expense,  and  the  f^-ass  was  f^rowin^  frrcon  on  its  squares  ard 
borders  now.  There  were  a  few  perennials  easy  to  cultivate; 
and  amiuals  such  as  sow  themselves,  marigolds  and  ]>ansies. 
There  was  balm  in  abundance,  and  two  or  three  j^nj^autic 
peonies,  in  their  season  the  admiration  of  all  passers  by;  and 
beds  of  useful  herbs,  wormwood  and  sage,  and  sununer 
savory.  But,  though  it  looked  like  a  wilderness  of  weeds  the 
the  first  day  they  came  to  sec  it,  Janet's  quick  eye  foresaw  a 
great  deal  of  j^leasure  and  profit  wliich  might  be  got  for  the 
bairns  out  of  the  garden,  and,  as  usual,  Janet  saw  clearly. 

There  was  a  cliancte  to  find  fault  with  the  house,  if  anyone 
had  at  this  time  been  inclined  to  find  fault  with  anytliing. 
It  was  largo  and  pleasant,  l^ut  it  was  sadly  out  of  repair. 
Much  of  it  had  been  little  used  of  late,  and  looked  di-eary 
enough  in  its  dismantled  state.  But  all  this  was  chaaged 
after  a  while,  and  they  settled  down  v(xrv  happily  in  it,  with- 
out thinking  about  any  defect  it  might  have,  and  these  dis- 
appeared in  time. 

For,  by  and  by,  all  necessary-  repairs  were  made  by  their 
provident  landlord's  own  hands.  He  had  no  mind  to  pay 
out  money  for  what  he  could  do  himself ;  and  many  a  wet 
afternoon  did  lie  and  his  hu*cd  man  devote  to  the  replacing 
of  sliingles,  the  nailing  on  of  clapboards,  to  puttying,  paint- 
ing, and  other  matters  of  the  same  kind.  A  good  landlord 
he  was,  and  a  kind  neighbor,  too ;  and  when  the  many  ad- 
vantages of  theu'  new  home  were  being  told  over  l^y  the 
chikircn,  tho  living  so  near  to  'Mr.  Snow  and  little  Emily 
was  never  left  till  the  last. 

A  V(!ry  pleasant  summer  thus  began  to  them  all.  It 
would  be  dilii(;ult  to  say  which  of  tiiem  all  enjoyed  their  new 
life  thj  most.  But  Janet's  prophecy  came  true.  The  )irinv'i^fi 
of  farmnig  proved  to  be  its  chief  charm  to  the  lads  ;  and  if 
it  hail  been  left  entirely  to  them  to  plant  and  sow,  and  care 
for,  and  gather  in  tlio  harvest,  it  is  to  bo  feared  there  would 
not  have  been  much  to  show  for  the  summer's  work.  But  their 
father,  who  was  by  no  means  inexperienced  in  agricultural 
matters,  had  the  success  of  thcii'  farming  experiment  much 


s 


120 


Janet's  love  and  service, 


■1 


at  heart,  and  with  his  advice  and  the  frequent  expostulations 
and  assistance  of  Mr.  Snow,  affaii's  were  conducted  on  their 
httle  farm  on  the  whole  prosperously. 

Not  that  the  lads  grew  tu*ed  of  exerting  themselves. 
There  was  not  a  lazy  bone  in  then*  bodies,  Mr.  Snow  de- 
clared, and  no  one  had  a  better  opportunity  of  knowing  than 
he.  But  their  strength  and  energy  were  not  exerted  always 
in  a  dh'eclion  that  would  pay,  according  to  Mr.  Snow's  idea 
of  remuneration.  Much  time  and  labor  were  expended  on 
the  building  of  a  biiJge  over  Carson's  brook,  between  the 
house  and  Pine  Grove  Hill,  and  much  more  to  the  making 
of  a  waterfall  above  it.  Even  Mr.  Snow,  who  was  a  long 
time  in  coming  to  comprehend  why  thoy  should  take  so  much 
trouble  with  what  was  no  good  but  to  look  at,  was  canied 
awa}'  by  the  spirit  of  the  affaii*  at  last,  and  lent  liis  oxen, 
and  used  his  crowbar  in  their  cause,  conveying  gi'cat  stones 
to  the  spot.  When  the  bridge  and  the  waterfall  were  com- 
pleted, a  path  was  to  be  made  round  the  hill,  to  the  pine 
grove  at  the  top.  Then,  among  the  pines,  there  was  a 
wonderful  structure  of  rocks  and  stones,  covered  with  mossPT 
and  oreepmg  plants.  The  Grotto,  the  children  called  it,  Mr. 
,Snow  called  it  the  Cave.  A  wonderful  place  it  was,  and 
much  did  they  enjoy  it  To  be  sure,  it  would  not  hold  them 
all  at  once,  but  the  gi'ove  would,  and  the  grotto  looked  best 
on  the  outside,  and  much  pleasure  did  they  get  out  of  their 
labors. 

The  lads  did  not  deserve  all  the  credit  of  these  great 
works.  The  gMs  helped,  not  only  with  approving  eyes  and 
lips,  but  with  expert  hands  as  well.  Even  Graeme  grew 
rosy  and  sunburnt  by  being  out  of  doors  so  much  on  bright 
mornings  and  evenmgs,  and  if  it  had  been  always  summer 
time,  there  might  have  been  some  danger  that  even  Graeme 
would  not  very  soon  have  cor>ie  back  to  the  quiet  indoor 
enjoyment  of  work  and  study  again. 

As  for  Janet,  her  homesiclmess  must  have  been  left  m  the 
little  brown  house  behind  the  elms,  for  it  never  troubled  her 
after  she  came  up  the  brae.    With  the  undisputed  possession 


JANKTS    LOVE    AXD    SERVICE. 


121 


IS 

ir 

i. 

ti 
s 
a, 
1 

B 


of  poultry,  pigs  and  cows,  came  back  her  energy  and  peace 
of  mind.  The  lirst  basket  of  eggs  collected  by  the  children, 
the  first  chmniing  of  golden  butter  which  she  was  able  to 
disi)lay  to  their  admiring  gaze,  were  worth  their  weight  in 
gold  as  helps  to  her  returning  cheerfalness.  Not  that  she 
valued  her  dumb  friends  for  their  usefulness  alone,  or  even 
for  the  comforts  they  brought  to  the  household.  She  had  a 
natural  love  for  all  dependent  creatures,  and  petted  and  pro 
vided  for  her  favorites,  till  they  learned  to  know  and  love 
her  m  retui*n.  All  helpless  creatiu'es  seemed  to  come  to  her 
natm-ally.  A  dog,  which  had  been  cruelly  beaten  by  his 
master,  took  refage  with  her  ;  and  being  fed  and  caressed  by 
her  hand,  could  never  be  induced  to  leave  her  guardianship 
again.  The  very'  bees,  at  swanning  time,  did  not  sting 
Janet,  though  they  lighted  in  clouds  on  her  snowy  cap  and 
neckerchief ;  and  the  little  brown  spaiTows  came  to  share 
with  the  chickens  the  crumbs  she  scattered  at  the  door. 
And  so,  hens  and  chickens,  and  httle  brown  span'ows  did 
much  to  win  her  from  a  rcgi-etful  remembrance  of  the  pr.st, 
and  to  reconcile  her  to  what  was  strange — "unco  like'  in 
her  new  home. 

Her  cows  were,  perhaps,  her  prime  favorites.  Not  tint 
she  would  aclaiowledge  them  at  all  equal  to  "Flcckie"  or 
"  Blackie,"  now,  probably,  the  favorites  of  another  mistr.  .sn 
on  the  other  side  of  the  sea.  But  "Brindle  and  Spottie  w/ro 
wise-like  beasts,  with  mair  sense  and  discretion  than  sorao 
folk  that  she  could  name,"  and  many  a  child  in  Merlevillo 
got  less  care,  than  she  bestowed  on  them.  Morjiing  and 
night,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  all  the  farmers'  wives  in  jMerle- 
villo,  at  noon  too,  when  the  days  were  long  she  milked  them 
witli  her  own  hands,  and  made  more  and  better  butter  from 
the  two,  than  oven  old  INIrs.  Snow,  who  prided  herself  on 
her  abilities  in  these  matters,  made  from  any  three  on  her 
pasture.  And  when  in  the  fall  Mr.  Snow  went  to  Boston 
with  the  produce  of  his  mother's  dairy,  and  his  own  farm,  a 
large  tub  of  Janet's  butter  went  too,  for  which  was  to  be 
brought  back  "  tea  worth  the  drinking,  and  at  a  reasouablo 
6 


« 


122 


JANETS    L<»VK    AM)    HKUVICK. 


':! 


I 


price,"  anil  otlior  iliiiij^a  besides,  wliioli  iifc  IVTcrlcvillo  and  at 
Meiievillo  prices,  could  not  bo  easily  obtained. 

Tlio  Indian  summer  had  como  aj^-ain.  Its  mysterious  hazo 
and  hush  were  tni  all  tlihi^^'S  under  the  ojkmi  hIvv,  and  '.viMun 
the  house  all  Avas  quiet,  too.  The  minister  was  in  thv.(  study, 
and  the  bnmis  were  in  the  pine  f^^rove,  or  by  the  Nvater  side, 
or  even  farther  away ;  for  no  sound  of  souf^  or  lan<ifhtor 
came  from  these  familiar  places.  Janet  sat  at  the  open  door, 
feeling  a  little  dreary,  as  she  was  rather  a])t  to  do,  when  left 
for  hours  togi.'thcr  alone  by  the  bairns.  Besides,  there  v/as 
something  in  the  mild  air  and  in  the  quiet  of  the  afternoon, 
that  "  'n)inded"  her  of  the  time  a  year  ago,  when  the  bainis, 
havuig  all  gone  to  the  kirk  on  thiit  iirtit  Sabbatli-day,  she  had 
"ncargrat  herself  bli)i,"  from  utter  despairing  homesickness. 
She  could  now,  in  her  restored  p(\ace  and  iirnm(\ss,  alibrd  to 
to  feel  a  little  contemptuous  of  her  former  self,  yet  a  sense 
of  sadiiess  crept  over  Iter,  at  the  memory  of  the  time,  a  slight 
pang  of  the  old  malady  stirred  at  her  heart.  Even  now,  she 
was  not  quite  sure  that  it  would  be  prudent  to  indulge  hersc^lf 
in  thoughts  of  the  old  times,  lest  tlie  wintry  days,  so  fast 
hastening,  miglit  bring  back  the  old  gloom.  So  she  was  not 
sorry  when  the  sound  of  footsteps  broke  the  stillness,  and 
she  was  pleased,  for  quite  other  reasons,  when  Mr.  Snow 
appeared  at  the  open  door.  He  did  not  accept  her  invita- 
tion to  enter,  but  seated  himself  on  the  doorstep. 

"  Your  folks  are  all  gone,  arc  they  ?  "  askc^l  he. 

"  The  minister  is  in  his  study,  and  Miss  ( iraeme  and  the 
bairns  are  out  by,  some  way  or  other.  Your  Emily's  with 
them." 

"  Yes,  I  reckoned  so.  I  've  just  got  home  from  Rixford. 
It  would  n't  amount  to  nnich,  all  I  c;iuld  do  to-night,  so  I 
thought  I'd  como  along  up  a  spell." 

Janet  repeated  her  kindly  welcome. 

"  The  minister's  bug}''  I  presume,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  —  as  it  s  Saturday,  —  but  he  winna  bo  busy  verj'' 
long  now.     If  you  '11  bide  a  moment,  he  'U  bo  out  I  daresay." 

"  There 's  no  hurry.     It 's  nothing  particular." 


>m 


^Bf 


JANET  3    LOVK   AND    8EUVTCE. 


123 


But  INIr.  Snow  was  not  in  his  usntil  spirits  evidently,  and 
watcliin;^  liijii  st:':iltliily,  Janet  saw  a  careworn  anxious  cxprcf-i- 
sion  fasteninf'  on  his  iisnallv  cheerful  face. 

"  Are  you  no'  wcel  the  nij^'ht '?"  she  asked. 

"  Sartain.     I  never  was  sick  hi  my  life." 

"And  l]ow  arc  they  all  down-by  V"  meaning  at  ]Mr.  Snow's 
hous(>,  by  "  down-V)y." 

"  Well,  pretty  nnieli  so.  Only  just  middling.  Nothing 
to  brag  of,  in  the  way  of  smai*tnoss." 

Th(!re  was  a  long  sHencc  after  that.  Mr.  Snow  sat  with 
ft)ld(Hl  arms,  looking  out  on  the  scene  bcsforo  Ihem. 

"  It 's  kind  o'  i)leasant  hero,  ain't  it  ?"  said  he,  at  last. 

"  Ay,"  said  Jjinet,  softly,  not  caring  to  disturb  his  mus- 
ings. Ho  sat  still,  looking  over  his  own  broad  fields,  not 
thhiking  of  them  as  his,  however,  not  calculating  the  exjienso 
of  the  new  saw-mill,  with  whi(;li  he  had  been  tlireatcning  to 
disfigure  Carson's  broolc,  just  at  tlic  point  where  its  waters 
fell  into  the  pond.  He  was  looking  far  away  to  the  distant 
hills,  where  the  dim  haze  was  deepening  into  pur],)le,  hiding 
the  moui/am  tops  beyond.  But  it  could  not  be  hills,  nor 
haze,  nor  hitlden  mountam  tops,  that  had  brought  that  wist- 
ful longuig  look  into  his  eyes,  Janet  thought,  and  between 
doubt  as  to  what  she  ought  to  say,  and  doubt  as  to  wLetlicr 
she  should  say  anything  at  all,  she  was  for  a  long  time  silent. 
At  last,  a  tho Light  struck  her. 

"  What  f(jr  wasna  you  at  the  Lord's  table,  on  the  Sabbath- 
day  V"  asked  she. 

Sampson  gave  her  a  queer  look,  and  a  short,  amused  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  guess  oiu*  folks- would  ha'  opened  their  eyes,  if  I 
had  undertook  to  go  there." 

Janet  looked  at  him,  in  some  sui-priso. 

"  And  what  for  no  ?  I  ken  there  are  others  o'  the  folk,  that 
let  strifes  and  divisions  hinder  them  from  doing  their  duty, 
and  sitting  down  together.  Though  wherefore,  the  hko  of 
these  things  should  liinder  them  from  remembering  their 
Lord,  is  more  than  I  can  imderstand.  What  hac  you  been 
doing,  or  what  has  somcl)ody  been  d(^ing  to  you  ?" 


124 


JANET  8   LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


; 


Tliorc  was  a  pause,  and  then  Sampson  looked  up  and  said, 
gi'avcly. 

"  jMis'  Nasmyth,  I  ain't  a  professor.  I  'ni  one  of  the  world's 
peoi)lo  Deacon  Fish  tells  about." 

Janet  looked  grave. 

"  Come  now.  Mis'  Nasmyth,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you 
thought  I  was  one  of  the  good  ones  ?" 

"You  ought  to  be,"  said  she,  gravely. 

"  Well, — yes,  I  suppose  I  ought  to.  But  after  all,  I  guess 
there  am't  a  great  sight  of  difference  between  folks, — least- 
w^ays,  between  Merle ville  folks.  I  know  all  about  them.  I 
was  the  first  white  child  bom  in  the  town,  I  was  raised  here, 
and  in  some  way  or  other,  I  'm  related  to  most  folks  in  town, 
and  I  ought  to  know  them  all  pretty  well  by  this  time.  Ex- 
cept on  Sundays,  I  expect  they  re  all  pretty  much  so.  It 
would  n't  do  to  tell  round,  but  there  are  some  of  the  world's 
people,  that  I  'd  full  as  lief  do  business  with,  as  with  most  of 
the  professors.     Now  that 's  a  fact." 

*•  You  're  no'  far  wrong  fhcrt^  I  daresay,"  said  Janet,  with 
emphasis.  "  But  that 's  neither  here  nor  there,  as  far  as  your 
duty  is  concerned,  as  you  weel  ken." 

"  No, — I  don't  know  as  it  is.  But  it  kind  o'  makes  me 
feel,  as  though  there  wasn't  much  in  religion,  anyway." 

Janet  looked  mystified.     Mr.  Snow  continued. 

"  Well  now,  see  here,  I  '11  tell  you  just  how  it  is.  There 
ain't  one  of  them  that  don't  tliink  I  'm  a  sinner  of  the  worst 
kind — gospel  hardened.  They  've  about  given  me  up,  I 
know  they  have.  WeU  now,  let  alone  the  talk,  I  don't  be- 
hove there  's  a  mite  of  difference,»between  me,  and  the  most 
of  them,  and  the  Lord  knows  I  'm  bad  enough.  And  so  you 
see,  I  'vc  about  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  religion,  I  have  n't  never  come  across  the  real  ar- 
ticle." 

"Tliat's  hke  enough,"  said  Janet,  with  a  groan.  "I  can- 
na  say  that  I  have  seen  muckle  o'  it  myself  in  this  town, 
out  of  our  own  house.  But  I  canna  see  that  that  need  be 
any  excuse  to  you.    You  have  aye  the  word." 


\ 
to 


.TANETVS    LOVE    AND   BKRVICK. 


125 


i 


"  Well,  yes.  I  've  always  had  the  Bible,  and  I  *ve  read  it 
considerable,  but  I  never  seem  to  get  the  hang  of  it,  some- 
how. And  it  ain't  because  I  ain't  tried,  either.  There  w^as 
one  spell  that  I  was  drcadfid  down,  and  says  I  to  myself,  if 
there  's  comfort  to  be  got  out  of  that  old  book,  I  'm  bound  to 
have  it.  So  I  began  at  the  beginni^ig  about  the  creation,  and 
Adam  and  Eve,  but  I  didn't  seem  to  get  much  comfort 
there.  There  was  some  good  readuig,  but  along  over  a 
piece,  there  was  a  deal  that  I  could  see  notliing  to.  Some  of 
the  Psalms  seemed  to  kind  o'  touch  the  si)ot,  and  the 
Proverbs  are  first-rate.  I  tell  you  he  knew  something  of 
human  nature,  that  wrote  them." 

"  There 's  one  thing  you  might  have  learned,  before  you 
got  far  over  in  Genesis,"  said  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  gravely,  "  that 
you  are  a  condemned  sinner.  You  should  have  settled  that 
matter  with  yourself,  before  you  began  to  look  for  com- 
fort." 

'*  Yes,  I  knew  that  before,  but  I  could  n't  seem  to  make  it 
go.  Tlien  I  thought,  maybe  I  did  n't  understand  it  iTght,  so 
I  talked  with  folks  and  went  to  meeting,  and  did  the  best  I 
could,  tlmiking  surely  what  other  folks  had  got,  and  I 
had  n't,  would  come  sometime.  But  it  did  n't.  The  talking 
and  the  gomg  to  meeting,  did  n't  help  me. 

"  Now  there 's  Deacon  Sterne,  he  'd  put  it  right  to  me. 
He  'd  say,  says  he,  '  Sampson,  you  're  a  sinner,  you  know 
you  be.  You  've  got  to  give  up,  and  bow  that  stiff  neck  o' 
your  'n  to  the  yoke.'  Well,  I  'd  say,  *  I  'd  be  glad  to,  if  I 
only  laiew  how  to.'  Then  he  'd  say,  '  But  you  can't  do  it 
yourself,  no  how.  You  're  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  potter, 
and  you  '11  have  to  perish,  if  the  Lord  don't  take  right  hold 
to  save  you.'  Then  says  I,  'I  wish  to  mercy  He  would.' 
Then  he  'd  talk  and  talk,  but  it  all  came  to  about  that.  *  I 
must,  and  I  could  n't,'  and  it  did  n't  help  me  a  mite. 

"  That  was  a  spell  ago,  after  Captain  Jennings,  folks,  went 
West.  I  wanted  to  go  awfully,  but  father  he  was  getting 
old,  and  mother  she  wouldn't  hear  a  word  of  it.  I  was 
awful  discontented,  and  then,  after  a  spell,  worse  came,  and 


t. 


120 


JANKt's    love   and  SEItVICE. 


>i 


I  tell  you,  I'd  ha  given  most  anything,. to  have  got  religion, 
just  to  have  had  something  to  hold  on  to." 

Mi\  Snow  paused.  There  was  no  doubting  his  earnest- 
ness now.  Janet  did  not  speak,  and  in  a  little  while  he  ■went 
on  again. 

"I  'd  give  considerable,  just  to  be  sure  there  's  anything  in 
getting  rehgion.  Sometimes  I  seem  to  see  that  there  is,  and 
then  again  I  think,  why  don't  it  help  folks  more.  Now, 
there 's  Deacon  Sterne,  he  's  one  of  the  best  of  them.  He 
■would  n't  swerve  a  hair,  from  what  he  believed  to  be  right, 
not  to  save  a  limb.  He  is  one  of  the  real  old  Puiitau 
sort,  not  a  mite  hkc  Fish  and  Slowcome.  But  he  ain't  one 
of  the  meek  and  lowly,  I  can  tell  you.  And  he  's  made  some 
awful  mistakes  in  his  life-time.  He  's  been  awful  hard  and 
strict  in  his  family.  His  fii-st  chikben  got  along  pretty  well. 
Most  of  them  were  guis,  and  their  mother  was  a  smart 
woman,  and  stood  between  them  and  their  father's  hardness. 
And  besides,  in  those  days  when  the  country  was  new,  folks 
had  to  work  hard,  old  and  3'oung,  and  that  did  considerable 
towards  keeping  things  straight.  But  his  boys  never  thought 
of  then-  father,  but  to  fear  him.  They  both  went,  as  soon  as 
ever  they  were  of  age.  Silas  came  home  afterwards,  and 
died.  Joshua  went  West,  and  I  don't  beheve  his  father  has 
heard  a  word  fi'om  him,  these  fifteen  years.  The  ghls  scat- 
tered after  their  mother  died,  and  then  the  deacon  married 
again,  Abby  Sheldon,  a  pretty  girl,  and  a  good  one  ;  but  she 
never  ought  to  have  married  him.  She  was  not  made  of 
tough  enough  stuft^  to  wear  along  side  of  him.  She  has 
changed  into  a  grave  and  silent  woman,  in  his  house.  Her 
children  all  died  when  they  were  babies,  except  William,  the 
eldest, — willful  Will.,  they  call  him,  and  I  don't  know  but  he  'd 
have  better  died  too,  for  as  sui'e  as  the  deacon  don't  change  his 
course  with  him,  he  '11  drive  him  ^ight  straight  to  ruin,  and 
break  his  mother's  heart  to  boot.  Now,  what  I  want  to 
know  is — if  rehgion  is  the  powerful  thing  it  is  called,  why 
don't  it  keep  folks  that  have  it,  from  making  such  mistakes 
in  life?" 


1 


.TAXl'/r's    LOVE   AND    SEUVICK 


127 


4 


1 


Janet  did  not  have  her  answer  at  her  tongue's  end,  and 
SiluipHoii  did  not  i^ivo  Lcr  time  to  consider. 

"Now  there's  Becky  Pettimore,  she's  got  religion,  but  it 
don't  keep  her  from  being  as  sour  as  vinegar,  and  as  bitter 
as  gaU— " 

''  Whisf,  man !"  interrupted  Janet.  "  It  ill  becomes  the 
like  o'  you  to  speak  that  way  of  a  poor  lone  woman  like  yon — 
one  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  home,  but  who 
has  been  kept  down  wdth  hard  work  and  little  sympathy,  and 
many  another  trial.  She 's  a  worthy  woman,  and  her  deeds 
prove  it,  for  all  her  sourness.  There  's  few  women  in  the 
to\m  that  I  respect  as  I  do  her." 

"  Well,  that 's  so.  I  know  it.  I  Imow  she  gets  a  dollar  a 
week  the  year  round  at  Captain  Liseome's,  and  earns  it,  too  ; 
and  I  know  she  gives  half  of  it  to  her  aunt,  who  never  did 
much  for  her  but  spoil  her  temper.  But  it 's  an  awful  pity 
her  reh<^ion  don't  make  her  pleasant." 

"  One  nuistiia  judge  another,"  said  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  gently. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  want  to.  Only  I  wish — but  there 's  no 
good  talking.  Still  I  must  say  it 's  a  pity  that  folks  who  have 
got  religion  don't  take  more  comfort  out  of  it.  Now  there 's 
mother  ;  she  's  a  pillar  in  the  church,  and  a  good  woman,  I 
believe,  but  she's  dreadful  crank  sometimes,  and  worries 
about  things  as  she  had  n't  ought  to.  Now  it  seems  to  me, 
if  I  had  all  they  say  a  Ciiristian  has,  and  expects  to  have,  I  'd 
let  the  rest  go.  They  don't  half  of  them  live  as  if  they  took 
more  comfort  than  I  do,  and  there  arc  spells  when  I  don't 
take  much."' 

Janet's  eyes  glistened  with  sj-mpathy.  There  was  some 
siu-prisc  in  them,  too.     Mr.  Snow  continued — 

"  Yes,  I  do  get  pretty  sick  of  it  all  by  spells.  After  father 
died — and  other  things — I  got  over  caring  about  going  out 
West,  and  I  thought  it  as  good  to  settle  down  on  the  old 
place  as  any  where.  So  I  fixed  up,  and  built,  and  got  the 
land  into  prime  order,  and  made  an  orchard,  a  first-rate  one, 
and  made  believe  happy.  And  I  don't  know  but  I  should 
have  staid  so,  only  I  heard  that  Joe  Arnold  had  died  out 


waissmm 


128 


JANETS   LOVE  AND   SERVICE. 


*?'  I 


r 


West — ho  had  married  Rachel  Jennings,' you  know  ;  so  I  got 
kind  of  unsettled  again,  and  went  ofl'  at  last.  Rachel  had 
changed  considerable.  She  had  seen  trouble,  and  had  poor 
health,  and  was  kind  o'  run  down,  but  I  brought  her  right 
home — ^her  and  httle  Emily.  Well — it  didn't  suit  mother. 
I  had  n't  said  anything  to  her  when  I  went  off.  I  had  n't 
anything  to  say,  not  knowing  how  things  might  bo  with  Ra- 
chel. Come  to  get  home,  things  did  n't  go  smooth.  Mother 
worried,  and  Rachel  worried,  and  life  was  n't  what  I  expected 
it  was  going  to  be,  and  I  worried  for  a  spell.  And  IVIis'  Nas- 
myth,  if  there  had  been  any  such  thing  as  getting  rehgion,  I 
should  have  got  it  then,  for  I  tried  hard,  and  I  wanted  some- 
thing to  help  me  bad  enough.  There  did  n't  seem  to  be  any- 
thing else  worth  caring  about  any  way. 

"  Well,  that  was  a  spell  ago.  Emily  was  n't  but  three  years 
old  when  I  brought  them  home.  We  've  lived  along,  taking 
some  comfort,  as  much  as  folks  in  general,  I  reckon.  I  had 
got  kind  of  ased  to  it,  and  had  given  up  expecting  much,  and 
took  right  hold  to  make  property,  and  have  a  good  time,  and 
here  is  your  minister  has  come  and  stirred  me  up  and  made 
me  as  discontented  with  myself  and  everything  else  as  well." 

"  You  should  thank  the  Lord  for  that,"  intermpted  Janet, 
devoutly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  Sometimes  when  he  has 
been  speaking,  I  seem  to  see  that  there  is  something  better 
than  just  to  live  along  and  make  property.  But  then  again, 
I  don't  see  but  it 's  just  what  folks  do  who  have  got  reUgion, 
Most  of  the  professors  that  I  know — " 

"Man!"  exclaimed  Janet,  hotly,  "I  hae  no  patience  with 
you  and  your  professors.  What  need  you  aye  to  cast  them 
up  ?  Canna  you  read  your  Bible  ?  It 's  that,  and  the  bless- 
ing that  was  never  yet  ^vithheld  from  any  one  that  asked  it 
with  humihty,  that  wiU  put  you  in  the  way  to  find  abiding 
peace,  and  an  abiding  portion  at  the  last." 

"Just  so,  IVIis'  Nasmyth,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  deprecatingly, 
and  there  was  a  little  of  the  old  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  But  it 
does  seem  as  though  one  miglit  naturally  expect  a  httle -help 


1 


JANETS    LOVE  AND  SEIiVICE. 


129 


from  them  that  are  spoken  of  as  the  lights  of  the  world  ;  now 
don't  it?" 

"  There 's  no  denying  that,  but  if  you  must  look  about  you, 
you  needna  surely  fix  your  eyes  on  such  crooked  sticks  as 
yoiu-  Fishes  and  yoiu*  Slowcomes.  It 's  no  breach  o'  charity 
to  say  that  tJicij  dinna  adom  the  doctrine.  But  thei*e  are 
other  folk  that  I  could  name,  that  are  both  light  and  salt  on 
the  earth." 

"Well,  yes,"  admitted  Sampson;  "since  I've  seen  your 
folks,  I  've  about  got  cured  of  one  thing.  I  see  now  there  is 
something  in  religion  with  some  folks.  Your  minister  be- 
lieves as  he  says,  and  has  a  good  time,  too.  He 's  a  good 
man." 

"  You  may  say  that,  and  you  would  say  it  with  more  em- 
phasis if  you  had  seen  him  as  I  have  seen  him  for  the  last 
two  twelve-months  wading  tlu-ough  deep  waters." 

"  Yes,  I  expect  he 's  just  about  what  he  ought  to  be.  But 
then,  if  religion  only  changes  folks  in  one  case,  and  fails  in 
ten—" 

"Man !  it  never  fails !"  exclaimed  Janet,  with  kindling  eye. 
"  It  never  failed  yet,  and  never  wiU  fail  while  the  heavens  en- 
dure. And  lad !  take  heed  to  yom'self.  That  *s  Satan's  net 
spread  out  to  catch  your  unwary  soul.  It  may  serve  your 
turn  now  to  jeer  at  professors,  as  you  call  them,  and  at  their 
misdeeds  that  are  unhappily  no'  few  ;  but  there  's  a  time 
coming  when  it  will  fail  you.  It  will  do  to  tell  the  like  of 
me,  but  it  winna  do  to  tell  the  Lord  in  *  that  day.'  You  have 
a  stumbling  block  in  your  own  proud  heart  that  hinders  you 
more  than  all  the  Fishes  and  Slowcomes  o'  them,  and  you 
may  be  angry  or  no'  as  you  like  at  me  for  telling  you." 

Sampson  opened  his  eyes. 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  see  the  thing  just  as  it  is  exactly. 
I  ain't  jeering  at  professors  or  their  misdeeds,  I  'm  grievmg 
for  myself.  If  religion  ain't  changed  them,  how  can  I  expect 
that  it  will  change  me  ;  and  I  need  changing  bad  enough,  as 
you  say." 

**  If  it  hasna  changed  them,  they  have  none  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
6* 


-F-^" 


130 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


1 1 


=:i' 


Nasmy til,  oamcstly.  "  A  CliriHtian,  and  no'  a  cbanj^ccl  riian  1 
Is  ho  no'  a  nloepinp^  man  awakened,  a  dead  man  made  alive — 
bom  a,'^ain  to  a  new  life  ?  Has  ho  not  the  Spirit  of  ( lod 
abiding?  in  him  ?  And  no'  changed !  No'  that  I  wish  to 
jndgo  any  man,"  added  fiho,  more  gently.  "  We  dinna  ken 
other  folk's  temptations,  or  how  small  a  spark  of  grace  in 
the  heart  will  save  a  man.  We  have  all  reason  to  be  thank- 
ful that  it 's  the  Lord  and  no*  man  that  is  to  bo  oui*  judge. 
Maybe  I  have  been  over  hard  on  those  men." 

Here  was  a  wondc.r!  Mrs.  Nasmyth  confessing  herself  to 
have  been  hard  upon  the  deacons.  Sampson  did  not  speak 
his  thcnghts,  however.  Ho  was  more  moved  by  his  fiicnd'a 
earnestness  than  he  cared  to  show. 

"  Well,  I  expect  there 's  something  in  it,  whether  I  ever 
see  it  with  my  own  eyes  or  not,"  said  he,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Ay,  is  there,"  said  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  heartily  ;  "  and  there  'a 
no  fear  but  you  '11  see  it,  when  you  ivsk  in  a  right  spiiit  that 
your  eyes  may  be  opened." 

" Mis*  Nasmyth,"  said  ??ampson,  quietly  and  solemnly,  "I 
may  be  deceiving  myself  in  this  matter.  I  seem  to  get  kind 
o'  bewildered  at  times  over  these  things.  But  I  do  think  I 
am  in  earnest.     Suix'ly  I  '11  get  help  some  time  ?" 

"Ay — that  you  will,  as  God  is  true.  But  oh  man !  go 
straight  to  Him.  It 's  between  you  and  Him,  this  matter. 
But  winna  you  bide  still  ?  I  daresay  the  minister  will  soon 
be  at  leisure  now." 

•'  I  guess  not.  I  had  n't  much  j)articular  to  say  to  him.  I 
can  just  as  well  come  again."  And  without  turning  his  face 
toward  her,  he  went  away. 

Janet  looked  after  him  till  the  turn  of  the  road  hid  him, 
saying  to  herself, 

*'  If  the  Lord  would  but  take  him  in  Land,  just  to  show 
what  He  could  make  of  him.  Somctijlng  to  His  praise,  I 
hae  no  doubt — Yankee  though  he  be.  God  forgive  me  for 
sayuig  it.  I  daresay  I  hae  nae  all  the  charity  I  might  hae 
for  them,  the  upsettin'  bodies." 


\ 


■^ 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

EVEN  in  qniot  comitiy  pLiocH,  there  are  changes  many 
and  viiriod  wron/^ht  by  the  ('(Miiuig  and  Roinj^'  of  seven 
ycai'H,  and  IMurluville  has  had  its  share  of  these  since  the 
time  the  minister's  children  looked  upon  the  pleasant  place 
with  the  v/onderinf»  eyes  of  stranj^ers.  Standinjjf  on  the 
church-steps,  one  looks  down  on  the  same  still  haujlet,  and 
over  the  same  hills  and  valleys  and  nestling  faini-hoases. 
But  the  woods  have  receded  in  some  places,  and  up  from  the 
right  comes  the  sound  of  clashing  machinery,  telling  that 
the  ]Merle  river  is  performing  its  mission  at  last,  sotting  in 
motion  saws  and  haunners  and  spmdles,  but  in  so  unpretend- 
ing a  manner  that  no  miniature  city  has  sprung  up  on  its 
banks  as  yet ;  and  long  may  that  day  bo  distant. 

The  trees  in  the  grave-yard  cast  a  deeper  shadow,  and  the 
white  grave-stones  seem  to  stand  a  Httlc  closer  tlian  of  old. 
The  tall,  rank  grass  has  many  times  been  trodden  by  the 
lingering  feet  oi  the  funeral-train,  and  fi'csli  sods  laid  down 
al)ove  many  a  heart  at  rest  forever.  Voices  beloved,  and 
voices  little  heeded,  have  grown  silent  duiing  th(se  seven 
years.  Some  have  died  and  have  been  forgotten  ;  some  liavo 
left  a  blank  behind  them  which  twice  seven  years  shall  have 
no  power  to  fill. 

The  people  have  changed  somewhat,  some  for  the  better, 
some  for  the  worse.  Judge  Merle  has  gi'own  older.  His 
hair  could  not  be  whiter  than  it  was  seven  years  ago,  liut  he 
is  bent  now,  and  never  forgets  his  stalf  as  he  takes  his  daily 
walk  down  the  village  street ;  but  on  liis  kintdy  face  rests  a 
look  of  peace,  deeper  and  more  abiding  than  there  used  to 
be.     His  kind  and  gentle  wife  is  kind  and  gentle  still.     She, 

(i:n.) 


132 


jankt's  lovk 


AND    SKKVlCl': 


too,  gi'ows  old,  with  a  briglitcninef  I'nco,  as  tliongh  each  pass- 
ing day  were  bringing  her  nearer  to  her  hope's  fulfillment. 

If  Deacon  Sterne  is  growing  older  ;  his  outward  man  gives 
no  token  thereof.  His  hair  has  been  iron-grey,  at  least  since 
anybody  in  Merleville  can  remember,  and  it  is  iron-grey  still. 
He  looks  as  if  seven  times  seven  years  conld  have  no  power 
to  make  his  tall  form  less  erect,  or  to  soften  the  lines  on  his 
dark,  grave  face.  And  yet  I  am  not  sure.  They  say  his  face 
is  changing,  and  that  sometimes  in  the  old  meeting-house  on 
Sabbath  afternoons  there  has  come  a  look  over  it  as  though 
a  bright  Hght  fell  on  it  fi'om  above.  It  comes  at  other  times, 
too.  His  patient  wife,  pretenduig  to  look  another  way  as  he 
bends  over  the  cradle  of  his  willful  William's  httle  son,  yet 
turns  stealthily  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  tender  smile 
she  has  so  seldom  seen  on  her  husband's  face  since  the  row 
of  little  graves  was  made  m  the  church-yard  long  ago.  By 
the  deacon's  fireside  sits  a  pale,  gentle  woman,  Will.'s  bride 
that  was,  Will's  soiTOwing  Avidt)w  now.  But  though  the 
grave  has  closed  over  him,  whom  liis  stem  father  loved  better 
than  aU  the  world  beside,  there  was  hope  in  his  death,  and 
the  mourner  is  not  micomforted  ;  and  for  the  deacon  there 
are  happier  days  in  store  than  time  has  brought  him  yet. 

Deacon  Slowcome  has  gone  West,  but,  "  yearning  for  the 
privileges  he  left  behind,"  or  not  successful  in  his  gaiiis- 
gettmg,  is  about  to  return.  Deacon  Fish  has  gone  West  and 
has  prospered.  Content  in  his  heart  to  put  the  wondeiful 
wheat  crops  in  place  of  school  and  meeting,  he  yet  deplores 
aloud,  and  m  d(jlcful  terms  enough,  the  want  of  these,  and 
never  ends  a  letter  to  a  Merleville  crony  without  an  earnest 
adjuration  to  "  come  over  and  help  us."  But,  on  the  whole, 
it  is  believed  t!iat,  in  his  heart,  Deacon  Fish  will  not  repine 
while  the  grain  grows  aiid  the  markets  pn^sj^er. 

]VIi'.  Page  is  growing  rich,  they  say,  which  is  a  change  m- 
deed.  His  nephew,  Timothj',  havhig  invented  a  wonderful 
mowing  or  reaping-machine,  Mr.  Pago  has  taken  out  a  patent 
for  the  same,  and  is  gi'owing  rich.  Mrs.  Page  enjoys  it  well, 
and  goes  often  to  Rixford,  where  she  has  her  gowns  and 


i«.v  f'r 


jankt's  love  and  service. 


133 


bonnets  made  now  ;  and  patronizes  yoimj^  INIrs.  Morlc  and 
yomig  Mrs.  Grecnleaf,  and  does  her  duty  generally  very  much 
to  hor  o^^n  satisfaction,  never  hearing  the  wliispcrcd  doubts 
of  her  old  fi'iends — Avhich  are  audible  enough,  too — wliother 
she  is  as  consistent  as  she  ought  to  be,  and  whether,  on  the 
whole,  her  new  prosperity  is  promoting  her  gi'owth  in  grace. 

Becky  Pcttimore  has  got  a  home  of  her  own,  and  feels  as 
if  she  knows  how  to  enjoy  it.  And  so  she  does,  if  to  enjoy 
it  means  to  pick  her  own  geese,  and  spin  her  own  wool,  and 
set  her  face  lilce  a  flint  against  the  admission  of  a  speck  of 
du't  withui  her  o\\ti  four  walls.  But  it  is  wliispered  among 
some  people,  wine  in  these  matters,  that  there  is  something 
going  to  happen  in  Beckj's  home,  which  may,  sometime  or 
other,  mar  its  perfect  neatness,  without,  however,  man-ing 
Becky's  enjoyment  of  it.  It  may  be  so,  for  hidden  away  in 
the  corner  of  (me  of  her  many  presses,  is  a  little  pillow  of 
down,  upon  which  no  mortal  head  has  ever  rested,  and  which 
no  eyes  but  Becky's  own  have  ever  set>n  ;  an<l  they  till  with 
w(mder  and  tondeniess  whenever  they  fall  upon  it ;  and  so 
there  is  a  chance  that  she  may  yet  have  more  of  homo's 
enjoyments  than  geese  or  wool  .)r  dustless  rooms  can  give. 

Behind  the  elms,  where  the  old  brown  house  stood,  stands 
now  a  snow-white  cottage,  with  a  vine-covered  porch  before 
it.  It  is  neat  without  and  neat  within,  though  often  th(M-o 
are  children's  toys  and  little  shoes  upon  the  floor.  At  this 
moment  iiwrc,  is  on  the  floor  a  row  of  chairs  overturned,  to 
mak(>,  not  horses  and  carriages  as  they  used  to  do  in  my 
young  days,  but  a  train  of  cars,  and  on  one  of  them  sits 
Arthur  ]*]lIiott  (Ireenleaf,  representing  at  once  engine,  whistle, 
conductor  and  freight.  And  no  bad  rc^presentalive  either, 
as  far  as  noise  is  concerned,  and  a  wonderful  baby  that  must 
be  who  sleeps  hi  the  cradle  through  it  all.  Beside  tiie  win- 
dow, inirufiled  amid  tlie  U[)roar,  sits  Celestia  ith  her  needle 
in  her  hand — a  little  paler,  a  little  thinner  tha\i  she  used  to 
DC,  and  a  little  cave-worn  withal.  For  Celestia  is  "  ambitious," 
in  good  housewife  plnusc,  and  there  arc  many  in  MerleviUo 
and  beyond  it  who  like  to  visit  at  her  Avell-ordered  homo. 


134 


JANET  ri    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


i 


hi 


Tho  squire's  newspaper  nestles  as  peacefully  amid  the  din 
as  it  used  to  do  in  the  solitude  of  his  little  ottice  seven  years 
ago.  He  is  thinner,  too,  and  older,  and  more  care-Avorn,  and 
there  is  a  look  in  his  face  sup,'<:festivc  of  "  appeals  "  and  knotty 
points  of  law  ;  and  by  the  wrinkles  on  liis  brow  and  at  the 
corners  of  his  eyes,  one  might  fancy  he  is  looking  out  f o  '  the 
Capitol  and  the  White  House  in  the  dis^'ince  still.  "j.le  is 
growing  old  while  ho  is  yoimg,"  as  Ivirs.  Nasmyth  says, 
"Yankees  have  a  nack  of  doing — standing  still  r.t  middle 
age  and  never  changing  more."  But  despite  tlie  Amnldes, 
the  squire's  face  is  a  pleasant  one  to  see,  and  he  has  a  way 
of  turning  Ijack  a  paragraph  or  two  to  read  the  choice  bits 
to  Celestia,  wliich  proves  chat  ho  is  not  altogether  absorbed 
in  law  or  pohtics,  but  that  he  enjoys  all  he  has,  and  all  he 
hopes  to  be,  the  more  that  he  has  Celestia  to  enjoy  it  with 
him. 

As  for  her,  seven  years  have  failed  to  convince  her  that 
Mr.  Grecnlcaf  is  not  the  gentlest,  wisest,  best  in  all  the 
world.  And  as  her  opinion  has  survived  an  attack  of  dys- 
pepsia, which  for  montlis  held  the  squire  in  a  giant's  gripe, 
and  tho  horrors  of  a  contested  election,  in  which  the  squire 
was  beaten,  it  is  to  bo  supposed  it  will  last  through  life.  At 
this  very  monicnt  h(>r  heart  tills  to  the  brim  Vv'ith  love  and 
wonder  as  he  draws  his  cliair  a  little  nearer  and  says : 

"  See,  here,  Celestia.  Listen  to  what  Daniel  "Webster  says," 
and  then  goes  on  to  read. 

"  Now,  Avliat  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  asks,  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  Her's  are  sparkling  too,  and  she  thinks  just  as  he 
does,  you  may  be  sure,  whatever  that  may  be.  Nt)t  that  she 
has  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  has  been  read,  as  how  could 
she  amid  nishing  engines  and  raih'oad  whistles,  and  tho 
energetic  announcement  of  the  conductor  that  "  the  cars 
have  got  to  Boston." 

"  See  here,  KlHott,  my  son.  Ain't  you  tired  riding  ?"  asks 
papa,  gently. 

"  Ain't  you  afi'aid  you  '11  wake  sister  ?  "  says  mamma.  *'  I 
would  n't  make  quite  so  much  noise,  dear." 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


135 


long 


Carlo ! 
time. 


"Why,  mother,  I  'm  the  cars,"  says  Elliott. 

"But  hadn't  vou  better  pfo  out  mto  the  varcl? 
Where 's   Carlo  ?    I  have  u't  seen  Carlo   for  a 
Where  's  Carlo  ?  " 

It  is  evident  Solomon  is  not  in  the  confidence  of  these  good 
people.  Moral  suasion  is  the  order  of  the  day.  They  often 
talk  veiy  wisely  to  each  other,  about  the  training  of  thcu'  chil- 
drcU;  and  gravely  disciiss  the  prescriptions  given  long  ago,  for 
the  curing  of  erils  which  come  into  the  world  with  us  all.  They 
would  fain  persuade  themselves  that  there  is  not  so  much 
need  for  them  in  the  present  enlightened  ago.  They  do  not 
quite  succeed,  however,  and  fully  intend  to  commence  the 
training  process  soon.  Celestia,  especially,  has  some  misgiv- 
ings, ar:  she  looks  into  the  face  of  her  bold,  beautiful  boy, 
but  she  shrinks  from  the  thought  of  severe  measm'cs,  and 
hopes  that  it  will  all  come  out  right  with  him,  without  the 
wise  king's  medicine  ;  and  if  mother's  love  and  unfailing 
patience  will  bring  things  out  right,  there  need  bo  no  fear  for 
little  EUiott. 

It  is  a  happy  home,  the  Greenlcaf 's.  There  are  case  and 
comfort  without  lux  ny  ;  there  is  necessity  for  exertion,  with- 
out fear  of  want.  There  are  manj'  good  and  pretty  things  in 
the  house,  for  use  and  ornament.  There  arc  pictures,  books 
and  magazuies  in  plenty,  and  everything  within  and  without, 
goes  to  prove  the  truth  of  Mr.  Snow's  declaration,  that  "  the 
Greenleafs  take  their  comfort  as  the}'  go  along."' 

But  no  change  has  come  to  aiij'ouo  in  Merleville,  so  gi'eat 
as  the  change  that  has  come  to  Mr.  Snow  himself.  Death 
has  been  in  his  dwelUng  once — twice.  His  wife  and  his 
mother  have  both  foimd  rest,  the  one  from  her  weary  wait- 
iiig,  the  other  from  her  cares.  The  house  to  which  Sampson 
returns  with  lagging  footsteps,  is  more  sil(>nt  than  over  now. 

]3ufc  a  chani'.c  greater  than  death  can  make,  had  come  to 
Sampson  lir.st,  preparing  him  for  all  changes.  It  came  to 
him  as  the  sighu  of  rushing  water  comes  to  the  traveller  who 
has  been  long  mocked  with  the  sound  of  it.  It  came,  cleans- 
ing Trom  his  hcai-t  and  fi'om  his  life  the  dust  and  dinuiesa 


186 


JANKTri    LOVK   AND   .SKRVICl-:. 


I 


ih^ 


of  the  world's  petty  cares,  and  vain  pursuits.  It  foimd  him 
weary  of  gaias-j,'ctting,  weary  of  toiling  and  moiling  amid  the 
dross  of  earth  for  that  Avhich  coiJd  not  satisfy,  and  it  gave 
him  for  his  own,  the  pearl  which  is  above  all  price.  Weaiy 
of  tossing  to  and  fi'o,  it  gave  him  a  sure  resting-place,  "a 
refuge  whercmnto  he  may  continually  resort,"  a  pea(^e  that  is 
abiding.  With  its  commg  the  darkness  passed  away,  and 
light  to  che(!r  and  guide  was  his  for  evermore.  Behind  the 
closed  blinds  of  his  deserted  house,  he  was  not  alone.  The 
promise,  made  good  to  so  many  in  all  ages,  was  made  good 
to  luin. 

"  He  that  loveth  Me  shall  be  loved  of  My  Father,  and  We 
will  come  and  make  our  abode  with  him." 

That  wonderi  "1  change  has  come  to  him,  which  the  world 
would  fain  denj  f^'"  ^.hange  which  so  many  profess  to  have 
experienced,  but  v  ;  so  ievr  manifest  in  their  hves.  He 
has  learned  of  the  "  uiceK  and  lowly."  He  is  a  Cluistian  at 
last.  He  has  "experienced  religion,"  the  neighbors  say, 
looking  on  with  varied  feelmgs  to  see  what  the  end  may 
be. 

Sampson  Snow  never  did  anything  like  anybody  else,  it 
was  said.  He  "  stood  it "  through  "  a  season  of  interest," 
when  Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome  had  thought  it  best  to  call 
in  the  aid  of  the  neighboiing  ministers,  to  hold  "  a  series  of 
meetings."  Good,  prudent  men  these  ministers  were,  and 
not  much  harm  was  done,  and  some  good.  Some  were 
gathered  into  the  Church  from  the  world  ;  some  falling  back 
were  restored  ;  some  weak  ones  were  strengthened ;  some 
sorrowmg  ones  comfoi'ted.  And  through  all,  the  interested 
attention  of  Mr.  Snow  never  flagged.  He  attended  all  the 
meetings,  listened  patiently  to  the  warnings  of  Deacon  Fish, 
and  the  entreaties  of  Deacon  Slowcome.  He  heard  him- 
self told  by  Mr.  Page  that  he  was  on  dangerous  ground, 
"within  a  few  rods  of  the  line  of  demarcation."  He  was 
formally  given  up  as  a  hojieless  case,  and  "  left  to  himself " 
by  all  the  tender-hearted  old  ladies  in  Merleville,  and  never 
left  the  stand  of  a  spectator  through  it  all.     Then  when 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND   SEKVICK. 


137 


Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome,  and  all  Mcrlevillc  with  them, 
settled  down  into  the  old  gloom  attain,  his  visits  to  the  minis- 
ter became  more  frequent,  and  more  satisfactory,  it  seemed, 
for  in  a  httle  time,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  it  was  aimonnccd  in 
due  form,  that  Sampson  Snow  desired  to  be  admitted  into 
fellowship  with  the  Church  of  Merlcville, 

After  that  time  his  foes  watched  for  his  halting  in  vain. 
Ditferent  from  other  folks  before,  he  was  dificrent  from  them 
still.  He  did  not  seem  to  think  his  duty  for  the  week  was 
done,  when  he  had  gone  twice  to  meeting  on  the  day  time, 
and  had  spoken  at  conference  on  the  Sunday  evening.  In- 
deed, it  must  be  confessed,  that  he  was  rather  remiss  \vith  re- 
gard to  the  latter  duty.  He  did  not  soem  to  have  the  gift  of 
speech  on  those  occasions.  He  did  not  seem  to  have  the 
power  of  advising  or  warning,  or  even  of  comforting,  his 
neighbors.     His  gift  la}'  in  helping  them. 

"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these, 
My  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me,"  were  words  that 
Sampson  seemed  to  beheve. 

"  He  dors  folks  a  good  turn,  as  though  he  would  a  little 
rather  do  it  than  not,"  said  the  widow  Lovejoy,  and  no  one 
had  a  better  right  to  know. 

As  for  the  poor,  weak,  nervous  Rachel,  who  could  only 
show  her  love  for  her  husband,  by  casting  all  the  burden  of 
her  troubles,  real  and  imaginaiy,  upon  him,  she  could  hardly 
love  and  trust  him  more  tho,n  she  had  always  done,  but  he 
had  a  gi'eator  power  of  comforting  her  now,  and  soon  the 
peace  that  reigned  in  his  heart  influenced  her's  a  little,  and 
as  the  years  went  on,  she  grew  content,  at  last,  to  bear  the 
burdens  (Jod  had  laid  upon  her,  and  being  made  content  to 
live  and  suffer  on,  God  took  her  biu'den  fi'om  her  and  laid 
her  to  rest,  where  never  biuxlen  presses  more. 

If  his  mother  had  ever  really  l^elieved  that  no  part  of  her 
son's  happiness  was  made  by  his  peevish,  sickly  wife,  she 
must  have  acknowledged  her  mistake  when  jioor  Rachel  was 
borne  away  forever.  She  must  have  known  it  by  the  long 
hours  spent  in  her  silent  room,  by  the  lingering  step  with 


138 


JAlxETS    I.OVE   AND   SEKVICE. 


I'liii 


f 

1: 


v.'liicli  lio  left  it,  by  the  tenderness  lavished  ou  cvciy  trifle  she 
had  ever  cared  for. 

"Sampson  soeiiiod  kind  o'  lost,"  she  said;  and  her  motherly 
heart,  with  all  its  worldliness,  4iad  a  spot  in  it  whit-h  ached 
for  her  son  in  his  desolation.  She  tlid  not  even  be^rudj^e  his 
turning-  to  Emily  with  a  tender  love.  She  found  it  ui  her 
heart  to  rejoice  that  the  'j,\ii  had  power  to  comfort  him  as  she 
could  not.  And  little  Emily,  ^-rowing  every  day  more  like  the 
jiretty  llachcl  who  had  taken  captive  poor  Sampson's  youthful 
fancy,  did  what  earnest  love  could  do  to  comfort  him. 

But  no  seKishness  mmgled  with  her  stepfather's  love  for 
Ihuily.  It  cost  him  much  to  decide  to  send  her  from  him  for 
a  while,  but  he  did  decide  to  do  so.  For  he  could  not  but  see 
that  Emily's  happiness  was  little  cared  for  by  his  mother,  even 
yet.  She  could  not  now,  as  in  the  old  time,  take  refuf^e  in 
her  mother's  room.  She  was  helpful  about  the  house  too, 
and  could  not  often  be  spared  to  her  fi-Iends  up  the  hill,  or  in 
the  village;  for  old  Mrs.  Snow,  much  as  she  hated  to  own  it, 
could  no  Ijngcr  lo  nil  tilings  with  her  own  hands,  as  she 
used  to  do.  To  be  snve,  she  could  have  had  helj)  any  day,  or 
every  day  in  the  year;  but  it  was  one  of  the  old  lady's 
"  notions"  not  to  be  able  "  to  endure  folks  around  her."  And, 
besides,  "  what  was  the  use  of  Emily  Arnold  ? "  And  so, 
■what  with  one  thmg  and  another,  little  Emily's  cheek  began 
to  grow  pale;  and  the  willful  gaze  with  which  she  used  to 
watch  her  fathers   home-coming,    came   back   to  her  eyes 


again. 


"  There  is  no  kind  o'  use  for  Emily's  being  kept  at  work," 
said  her  father.  "  She  ain't  strong ;  and  there  's  Hannah 
Lovejoy  would  bo  glad  to  come  and  help,  and  I  'd  be  glad 
to  pay  her  for  it.  Emily  maj--  have  a  good  time  as  v\ell  as 
not." 

But  his  mother  was  not  to  be  moved. 

"  Girls  used  to  have  a  good  time  and  work  too,  when  I  was 
young.  Emily  Arnold  is  strong  enough,  if  folks  would  let  her 
alone,  ...id  not  put  notions  in  her  head.  And  as  for  Hannah, 
I '11  have  none  of  her." 


.TANI:T  S   I.OVK   AND   SEKVICi:. 


139 


So  Mr.  Snow  saw  that  if  Emily  was  to  have  a  good  time  it 
must  bo  else  where;  and  ho  made  up  his  mind  to  the  very 
best  thing  he  could  have  done  for  her.  He  littcd  her  out,  and 
sent  her  to  Mt.  Holyokc  seminar}';  that  school  of  schools  for 
earnest,  ambitious  New  England  gu'ls.  And  a  good  time  she 
had  there,  enjoying  all  that  wrs  pleasant,  and  never  heeding 
the  rest.  There  were  the  iirst  incvitabl )  pangs  of  homesick- 
ness, nialdiiir  her  father  doubt  whether  he  had  done  best  for 
his  darling  after  all.  But,  in  a  httle,  her  letters  were  merry 
and  healthful  enough.  One  would  never  have  found  out 
from  them  anything  of  the  hardships  of  long  stairs  and  the 
fom-th  story,  or  of  extra  work  on  recreation  day.  Pleasantly 
and  profitably  her  days  passed,  and  before  she  returned  homo 
at  the  close  of  the  year,  Mrs.  Sn(3W  had  gone,  where  the 
household  y\ovk  is  done  without  wearmess.  Her  father 
would  fain  have  kept  her  at  homo  then,  but  ho  made  no 
objections  to  her  return  to  school  as  she  wished,  and  ho  was 
left  to  the  silent  mmistrations  of  Hannah  Lovcjoy  in  the 
deserted  homo  again. 

By  the  unanimous  voice  of  his  brethren  in  the  church,  lie 
was,  on  the  departure  of  Deacons  Fish  and  Slowcome,  elected 
to  iJll  the  placo  of  one  of  them,  and  in  his  own  way  ho  mag- 
nified the  ofiice.  He  was  "  lonesome,  awful  lonesome,"  at 
home;  but  cheerfulness  came  back  to  him  agaui,  and  there  is 
no  one  more  gladly  welcomed  at;  the  minister's  house,  and  at 
many  another  house,  than  he. 

T];.orc  have  been  changes  in  the  minister's  household,  too. 
When  his  course  in  college  was  over,  Arthur  came  out  to  tho 
rest.  He  hngered  one  dcliglitful  summer  in  Merleville,  and 
then  betook  liimsolf  to  Ctmada,  to  study  his  profession  of  the 
law.  For  iVrthur,  wise  as  the  Merleville  people  came  to  think 
him,  was  guilty  of  one  great  folly  in  their  eye.  He  could 
never,  he  said,  be  content  to  lose  his  nationality  and  become 
a  Yankee;  so,  for  the  sake  of  living  in  the  (Queen's  dominions 
he  went  to  Canada;  a  ])lace,  in  their  esthuation,  only  ono 
dcgi'ce  more  desirable  as  a  place  of  residence  than  Greenland 
or  Kamtschatka. 


^B 


140 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AND  SIORVIC'K. 


That  was  five  years  ago.  Arthur  has  had  something  of  a 
struggle  since  then.  By  sometimes  teaching  dull  boys  Lai  in, 
sometimes  acting  as  sub-editor  for  a  daily  paper,  and  at  all 
times  living  with  gi'eat  ec(momy,  he  has  got  ilu'ough  his 
studies  without  numing  much  in  debt;  and  has  entered  his 
profession  with  a  fair  prospect  of  success.  He  has  visited 
Merleville  once  since  he  went  away,  and  his  Avoeldy  letter  is 
one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  that  his  father  and  sisters  have 
to  enjoy. 

Norman  and  Hany  have  both  left  home,  too.  Mr.  Snow  did 
his  best  to  make  a  farmer  first  of  the  one  and  then  of  the  other, 
but  he  fjuled.  To  collogo  they  went  in  spite  of  poverty,  and 
having  passed  tlu'ongh  honorably,  they  went  out  into  the 
world  to  shift  for  themselves.  Norman  writes  hopefully  from 
the  far  West,  lie  is  an  eughieer,  and  will  be  a  rich  man  one 
day  he  confidently  asserts,  and  his  fiuends  believe  liim  with 
a  ditference. 

"He  will  make  money  enough,"  Janet  says,  "but  as  to  his 
keeping  it,  that  's  another  matter." 

Harry  went  to  Canada  w  ith  the  intention  of  following  Ar- 
thur's examjile  and  devoting  himself  to  the  law,  but  changed 
liis  mind,  and  is  now  in  the  merchant's  counting-room;  and 
sends  home  presents  of  wonderful  shawls  and  gowns  to  Janet 
and  his  sisters,  intending  to  impress  them  with  the  idea  that 
he  is  very'  rich  indeed. 

Those  loft  at  home,  are  content  now  to  be  without  the 
absent  ones;  knowing  that  they  are  doing  well  their  share  in 
the  world's  work,  and  certain  that  whatever  comes  to  them  in 
their  wanderings,  whether  prosperity  to  elate,  or  adversity  to 
depress  them,  their  first  an(l  fondest  thought  is,  and  ever 
will  be,  of  the  loving  and  beloved  ones  at  home. 


I 


CHAPTER    XV. 


THE  Indian  summer  time  was  come  a^am.  Tlic  gorgeous 
glory  of  the  autumn  was  gone,  but  so,  for  one  day,  at 
least,  was  its  droaiiness.  There  was  no  "  wailing  wind  "  com- 
plaining among  the  bare  boughs  of  the  elms.  The  very 
phies  were  silent.  The  yellow  leaves,  still  lingering  on  the 
beech-trees  in  the  hollow,  rustled,  now  and  then,  as  the  brown 
nuts  foU,  one  by  one,  on  the  brown  leaves  beneath.  The 
frosts,, sharp  and  frequent,  had  changed  the  torrent  of  a 
month  ago  into  a  gentle  rivulet,  whose  murmur  could  scarce 
be  heard  as  far  as  the  gate  over  which  Graeme  Elliott  leaned, 
gazing  dreamily  upon  the  scene  before  her. 

She  was  thinking  how  very  lovely  it  was,  and  how  very 
dear  it  had  become  to  her.  Seen  through  "  the  smoky  light," 
the  purple  hills  beyond  the  water  seemed  not  so  far  away 
as  usual.  The  glistening  spire  of  the  church  on  the  hUl,  and 
the  gleammg  grave-stones,  seemed  strangely  near.  It  looked 
but  a  step  over  to  the  village,  whose  white  houses  were  quite 
visible  among  the  leafless  trees,  and  many  farm-houses,  which 
one  could  never  see  in  summer  for  the  green  leaves,  were 
peepmg  out  everywhere  from  between  the  hills. 

"  There  is  no  place  like  Merleville,"  Graeme  thinks  in  her 
heai-t.  It  is  home  to  them  all  now.  There  were  few  but 
pleasant  associations  connected  with  the  hills,  and  gi'oves, 
and  homesteads  over  which  she  was  gazing.  It  came  very 
\4vidly  to  her  mind,  as  she  stood  there  looking  down,  how 
she  had  stood  with  the  bairns  that  first  Sabbath  morning 
on  the  steps  of  the  old  meeting-house  ;  and  she  strove  to 
recall  her  feeling  of  shyness  and  wonder  at  all  that  she  saw, 
and  smiled  to  think  how  the    faces    tiuned    to    them  so 

(Ul) 


U2 


JANET  8   LOVE  AND   SERVICE. 


nm 


ciirioufjly  tliat  day  wcro  boromo  fiimiliar  now,  and  somo  of 
ilumi  vei'v  dear.  Yes  ;  Mcrksvillo  v,-as  lionio  to  (iraorno.  Not 
that  shu  had  f()r<n)tt('n  the  old  homo  beyond  the  sea.  But 
the  tliou^dit  of  it  cauio  with  no  painful  lonj^inj^.  Even  the 
meniory  of  her  mother  brought  now  re<^-ct,  indeed,  and  sor- 
row, but  none  of  the  lon(?hness  and  miscrj'  of  the  Inst  days 
of  loss,  for  the  last  few  years  had  been  very  hajipy  years  to 
them  aU. 

And  yet,  as  Graeme  stood  gazing  over  to  the  hills  and  the 
village,  a  troubled,  vexed  look  came  over  her  face,  and,  with 
a  gesture  of  impatience,  she  turned  away  fi'om  it  all  and 
walked  up  and  doAvn  among  the  withered  leaves  outside  the 
gate  with  an  impatient  tread.  Something  troubled  her  with 
an  angiy  trouble  that  she  could  not  forget ;  and  though  she 
laughed  a  httle,  too,  as  she  muttered  to  herself,  it  was  not  a 
pleasant  laugh,  and  the  vexed  look  soon  came  back  again,  in- 
deed, it  never  went  away. 

"It  is  quite  absurd,"  she  murmured,  as  she  camo  within 
the  gate,  and  then  turned  and  loaned  over  it.  "  I  won't  bo- 
Hevo  it;  and  yet — oh,  dear!  what  shall  we  ever  do  if  it 
happens  ? " 

"  It 's  kind  o'  pleasant  here,  ain't  it  ?  "  said  a  voice  behind 
her.  Graeme  started  more  violently  than  tliero  was  any 
occasion  for.  It  was  only  jMi".  Snow  \<]io  had  been  in  the 
study  with  her  father  for  the  last  houi',  and  who  was  now  on 
his  way  home.  Graeme  scarcely  answered  him,  but  stood 
watching  him,  with  the  troubled  look  deepening  on  her  face, 
as  he  went  slowly  do^^'n  the  road. 

]}<Ir.  Snow  had  changed  a  good  deal  witliin  these  few  years. 
He  had  g}.'own  a  gi-eat  deal  gi'eyer  and  graver,  and  Graeme 
thought,  with  a  httle  pang  of  remorse,  as  she  saw  him  dis- 
appear round  the  turn  of  the  road,  that  she  had,  by  her  cold- 
ness, made  him  all  the  graver.  And  yet  she  only  half  re- 
gi'etted  it ;  and  the  vexed  look  camo  loack  to  her  face  again, 
as  she  gathered  up  her  work  that  had  fallen  to  the  gi'ound 
and  turned  toward  the  house. 

I'hero  was  no  one  m  the  usual  sitting-room,  no  one  in  tho 


^ 


1 


JANET  S    I,OVK    AND    i-KIiVTCE. 


143 


bright  Ivitelicn  Ijcyoiid,  nnd,  fpm^  to  tlio  foot  of  tlio  stair?!, 
Graeme  raises  bcr  voice,  Avliifli  has  an  echo  of  iuipatieiu'(>  in 
it  stiD,  and  calls 
"  ]Mrs.  Xasinyth."' 

For  Janet  is  oftener  called  Mrs.  Xasmyth  than  the  old 
name,  even  bj-  the  bairns  now,  except  at  such  Liinos  as  some 
v.-()iulerfiil  iiieco  of  coaxing-  is  to  bo  done,  and  then  she  is 
Janet,  the  bami's  own  Janet  still.  There  was  no  coaxing 
echo  m  Graeme's  voice,  however,  but  she  tried  to  chase  the 
vexed  shadow  from  her  face  as  her  fiicud  came  slowlv  down 
the  stall's. 

"Are  you  not  going'  to  sit  down?"  asked  Graeme,  as  she 
seated  herself  on  a  low  stool  by  the  vvmdov,'.  "I  wonder 
where  the  bairns  are  ? " 

"  The  bairns  are  gone  down  the  brae,"  said  :Mrs.  Nasmyth ; 
"  and  I  'm  just  going  to  sit  down  to  my  seam  a  v.-eo  while." 

•  But  she  seemed  in  no  huny  to  sit  down,  and  Graeme  sat 
silent  for  a  kittle,  as  she  moved  quietly  about  the  room. 

"Janet,"  said  she,  at  last,  "  v.-hat  brings  D(!acon  Snow  so 
often  up  here  of  late  ?  " 

Janet's  back  was  toward  Graeme,  and,  without  tiu-ning 
round,  she  answered : 

"  I  dinna  ken  that  he 's  oftener  here  than  he  used  to  bo. 
He  never  staid  long-  away.  Ho  was  ben  the  house  with  the 
mmister.     I  didna  see  hhn."     There  was  another  pause. 

"  Janet,"  said  Graeme  agam,  "  vdiat  do  you  tlmik  Mrs. 
Greenleaf  told  me  aU  Merleville  is  saying  ?" 

Janet  expressed  no  cuiiosity. 

"They  say  Deacon  Snovr  wants  to  take  you  down  tho 
brae." 

Still  Mrs.  Nasmyth  made  no  answer. 

"He  hasna  ventm'od  to  liint  such  a  thing?"  exclaimed 
Graeme  inteiTogatively. 

"No'  to  me,"  said  Janet,  quietly,  "but  the  min.:  I\'.l-." 

"  The  minister !  He  'a  no'  blate !  To  tliink  t)f  hun  holdmg 
up  his  face  to  my  father  and  proposing  the  hko  of  that !  And 
what  did  my  father  say  ?" 


144 


JANKTS    I.OVK    AND   SERVICE. 


ii'ii 


i 


"  I  fTiniia  kon  what  ho,  said  to  him  ;  but  to  me  ho  said  he 
was  well  pleased  that  it  should  be  so,  and " 

"  Janet !"  Graeme's  voice  expressed  consternation  as  well 
as  indignation.  Mrs.  Nasmyth  took  no  notice,  bnt  seated 
herself  to  her  stockinfi^-damiu'^. 

"  Janet !  If  you  tliink  of  such  a  thinj?  for  a  moment,  I 
declare  I  '11  take  second  thoughts  and  go  away  myself." 

"  Weel,  I  aye  thought  you  might  have  done  as  wcel  to  con- 
sider a  wee  'afore  you  gave  IVIr.  Foster  his  answer,"  said 
Janet,  not  heeding  Graeme's  impatient  answer. 

"  Janet !     A  sticket  minister !" 

"  My  dear,  he  's  no'  a  sticket  minister.  He  passed  his  ex- 
aminations with  great  credit  to  himself.  You  hae  your 
father's  word  for  that,  who  w^as  there  to  hear  him.  And  he 's 
a  grand  scholar — that 's  weel  kent ;  and  though  he  majaia 
hae  the  gift  o'  tongues  like  some  folk,  he  may  do  a  gi'eat  deal 
of  good  in  the  world  notwithstanthng.  And  they  say  he  has 
gotten  the  charge  of  a  fine  school  now,  and  is  weel  off.  I 
aye  thought  you  might  do  worse  than  go  with  liim.  He  's  a 
good  lad,  and  you  would  have  had  a  comfortable  home  with 
him." 

"  Thank  you.  But  when  I  mari-y  it  won't  be  to  get  a  com- 
fortable home.     I  'm  content  with  the  home  I  have." 

"  Ay,  if  you  could  be  sure  of  keeping  it,"  said  Janet,  with 
a  sigh  ;  "  but  a  good  man  and  a  good  home  does  not  come 
as  an  oflfer  ilka  day." 

"  The  deacon  needna  be  feared  to  leave  his  case  in  your 
bands,  it  seems,"  said  Graeme,  laughing,  but  not  pleasantly. 

"IVIiss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  gravely, 
"  there 's  many  a  thing  to  be  said  of  that  matter ;  but  it 
must  be  said  in  a  diiferent  spirit  from  what  you  are  manifest- 
ing just  now.  If  I  'm  worth  the  keeping  here,  I  'm  worth 
the  seeking  elsewhere,  and  Deacon  Snow  has  as  good  a  right 
as  another." 

"  Right,  indeed !  Nobody  has  any  right  to  you  but  our- 
selves.    You  are  our's,  and  we  '11  never,  never  let  you  go." 

"  It 's  no'  far  down  the  brae,"  said  Janet,  gently. 


t 


i 


i 


\ 


.TAN1;T  rf    LOVE    AXD   SKUVICK. 


ii: 


f 


\ 


"  Jaiift !  You  '11  never  tbiiik  of  goinj? !  Surely,  sur(>l_v, 
you '11  never  leiive  us  iKJW,  And  for  ii  stranger,  too!  When 
you  gave  up  your  own  niother  and  Sandy,  and  the  land  you 
loved  so  well,  to  conio  liero  with  us!  — "  (iraomo  could  not 
g().()n  for  the  tears  that  would  not  bo  kept  back. 

"  Miss  (iraenio,  my  dear  baira,  you  were  ncedinj^  nio  then. 
Nae,  liac  patience,  and  let  nio  speak.  You  aro  not  needing 
mo  now  in  the  same  way.  I  sometimes  tlnnk  it  would  be  far 
better  for  you  if  I  wasna  here." 

Graeme  dissented  earnestly  by  look  and  gesture,  but  she 
had  no  words. 

"  It 's  true  though,  m}'  dear.  You  can  hardly  say  that 
you  arc  at  the  head  of  yom*  father's  house,  wlule  I  manage  all 
thmgs,  as  I  do." 

But  Graeme  had  no  desire  to  have  it  otherwise. 

"  You  can  manage  far  best,"  said  she. 

"  That 's  no  to  be  denied,"  said  Mrs.  Nasmyth,  gravely  ; 
"but  it  ought  not  to  be  so.  IMiss  Graeme,  you  are  no'  to 
think  that  I  am  talcing  upon  myseK  to  reprove  you.  But 
do  you  think  that  yom*  ju'escnt  Ufo  is  the  best  to  lit  you  f(  »r 
the  duties  and  responsibilities  that,  sooner  or  later,  come  tj 
the  most  of  folk  in  the  world?  It's  a  pleasant  life,  I  ken, 
with  your  books  and  yoiu*  mu'^ic,  and  your  fine  seam,  aiul 
the  teaching  o'  the  baims  ;  but  it  canna  last ;  and,  ray  dear, 
is  it  making  you  ready  for  what  may  follow  ?  It  wouldna  !  )0 
so  eas}'  for  you  if  I  were  away,  but  it  might  l)o  far  better  for 
you  in  the  end." 

There  was  nothing  Graeme  could  answer  to  this,  so  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  looked  out  on  the 
Ijrown  leaves  lying  beneath  the  elms. 

"  And  if  I  should  go,"  continued  Janet,  "and  there  's  many 
an  if  between  me  and  going  —  but  if  I  should  go,  I  '11  be 
near  at  hand  in  time  of  need " 

*'  I  loiow  I  am  very  useless,"  broke  in  Graeme.  "  I  don't 
care  for  these  things  as  I  ought  —  I  have  left  you  with  too 
many  cares,  and  I  don't  wonder  that  you  want  to  go  away." 

"  AMiist,  lassie.  I  never  yet  !iad  too  nuich  to  do  for  yoiu' 
7 


140 


JAXKTrf    I,OVK    AND    BKRVICE. 


mother's  bairns  :  aiul  if  vou  liavo  done  little  it 's  l)ccaiif;o 
you  liavcna  needed.  And  if  I  could  aye  stand  between  you 
and  the  biu'dens  of  life,  vou  necdua  fear  tnnible.  But  I 
cauna.  Miss  (Jraome,  my  dear,  you  AY(;re  a  livinj^  child  in 
your  mother's  arms  before  she  A\as  far  past  yoiu'  w/fi,  njid 
your  brother  v^sih  before  you.  Think  of  the  cares  she  had, 
and  how  she  met  them." 

Graeme's  liead  fell  lovrer,  as  she  repeated  lier  tearful  con- 
fession of  uselessucss,  and  for  a  tunc  there  was  silence. 

"  And,  dear,"  said  Janet,  in  a  little,  "  your  fatlicr  tells 
me  that  Air.  Snow  has  offered  to  send  for  my  motlK>r  and 
Sandy.  And  oh !  my  b.iirn,  my  heart  leaps  in  my  bosom 
at  the  thouf^ht  of  seeinjx  their  faces  again."  She  had  no 
power  to  add  more. 

"  But,  Janet,  your  mother  thought  herself  too  old  to 
cross  the  sea  when  wo  came,  and  that  is  seven  years  ago." 

"My  dear,  she  kenned  she  couhhia  coitie,  and  it  was  as 
well  to  put  that  face  on  it.  But  she  would  gladly  come 
now,  if  I  had  a  home  to  give  her." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  and  tlicn  Graeme  said, 

"  It 's  seHish  in  me,  I  know,  but,  oh !  Janet,  we  have  been 
so  happy  lately,  and  I  canua  bear  to  think  of  changes  com- 
ing," 

Mrs.  Nasniyth  made  no  answer,  for  the  sound  of  the  bamis' 
voices  came  i}i  at  the  open  dooi",  and  in  a  minute  Marian 
entered. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  dear  ?  I  fear  j-ou  have  wearied 
yourself,"  said  Janet,  tenderly. 

"  We  have  onlj'  been  down  at  ]\Ir.  Snow  s  bam  watching 
the  Ihreshhig.  But,  indecLl,  I  have  wearied  mysdf."  And 
sitting  down  on  the  floor  at  Janet's  feet,  she  laid  her  head 
upon  her  lap.  A  kind,  hard  hand  was  laid  on  the  bright 
hair  of  *'  the  bonniest  of  a'  the  bairns." 

•'  You  mustna  sit  down  hero,  my  dear.  Lie  down  on  iho 
sofa  and  resu  yourself  till  the  tea  be  re.uly.  Have  you  ialion 
your  bottle  to-day  V  " 

Marian  macio  hev  face  the  very  picture  of  disgust. 


i. 


•f^' 


\ 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


147 


"  Oh !  Jiinct,  I  'm  better  now,  I  diiina  need  ii  Give  it 
1,0  Clracnio.  She  locjks  as  if  kIic  needed  somctLing  to  do  licr 
good.     AVliat  ails  you,  Oraemo?" 

"My  dear,"  rcraonytrated  Janet,  "rise  up  uhen  I  bid  yon, 
and  po  to  the  sofa,  and  I  '11  f:^o  up  the  stair  for  the  bottle." 

IMarian  laid  herself  wearily  down.  In  a  moment  Mrs. 
Nasinyth  reappeared  with  a  bottle  and  s])oon  *n  one  hand, 
and  a  pillow  in  the  other,  and  when  the  bitter  drauj^ht  was 
fairly  swallowed,  IMarian  was  laid  down  and  covered  and 
caressed  with  a  tenderness  that  stniek  CJraemo  as  stran{,'e  ; 
for  thouf,'l\  Janet  loved  them  all  well,  she  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  showiuf?  lua-  tenderness  by  caresses.  lu  a  little, 
Marian  slejjt.  Janet  did  not  resume  her  work  immediately, 
but  sat  j^'azinrj  at  her  with  eyes  as  full  of  wistful  tenderness 
as  ever  a  mother's  coulu  have  been.  At  length,  wi<,h  a  sigh, 
she  turned  to  her  basket  again. 

"  Miss  (Jraeme,"  said  slie,  in  a  littl(>,  "  I  diiuia  like  to  liear 
you  speak  that  way  about  changes,  as  though  they  did  not 
come  fi'om  Clod,  and  as  though  He  hadna  a  right  to  send 
them  to  His  peo[)le  wlien  He  pleases." 

"  I  canna  help  it,  Janet.  No  change  that  can  come  to  us 
can  be  for  the  belter." 

"  That 's  true,  but  we  must  even  expect  changes  that  aro 
for  the  worse  ;  for  just  as  sure  as  wo  settle  down  in  this 
world  content,  changes  will  come.  You  mind  what  the  AVord 
says,  '  As  an  eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest.'  And  you  may  bo 
sm-e,  if  we  aro  among  the  Lord's  children.  He  '11  no  leave  us 
to  make  a  portion  of  the  rest  and  peace  that  the  world  gives. 
He  is  kinder  to  us  than  wo  would  l)e  to  ourselves." 

A  restless  movement  of  the  sleeper  by  her  side,  arrested 
Janet's  words,  and  the  old  look  of  wistful  tenderness 
came  back  uito  her  eyes  as  she  turned  toward  her.  ( lra(;me 
rose,  and  leaning  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  kissed  her  softly. 

"How  lovely  she  is!  "  whispered  she. 

A  crimson  flush  was  rising  on  Marian's  checks  as  she  slept. 

"  Ay,  she  was  aye  bonny,"  said  Janet,  in  the  same  hjw 
voice  "  aud  she  looks  like  an  angel  now." 


«■■■ 


I 


If 


I 


148 


JANETS   LOVE  AXD  SI:RVK:E. 


Gracmo  stood  gazing  at  licr  sister,  nnd  in  a  little  Janet 
Hpoke  again. 

"  ]\Iiss  Graeme,  jon  canna  mind  your  aunt  Marian  ?  " 

No,  Graeme  could  not. 

"Menio  is  gi'owing  very  like  her,  I  think.  She  was 
bonnier  than  your  mother  even,  and  she  kept  her  beauty  to 
the  very  last.  You  ken  the  family  wercna  well  pleased  when 
your  mother  married,  and  the  sisters  didna  meet  often  till 
Miss  Marian  gi'ew  ill.  They  would  fain  have  had  her  away 
to  Italy,  or  some  far  awu'  place,  but  nothing  would  content 
her  but  just  lior  sister,  her  sister,  and  so  she  came  home  to 
the  manse.  That  was  just  after  I  came  V.ck  again,  after 
Sandy  was  weaned ;  and  kind  she  was  to  me,  the  bonny, 
gentle  creature  that  she  was. 

"  Fo);  a  time  she  seemed  better,  and  looked  so  blooming — 
except  whiios,  and  aye  so  bonny,  that  not  one  of  them  all 
coulil  believe  that  she  was  going  to  die.  But  one  day  she 
came  in  from  the  garden,  with  a  bonny  moss-rose  in  her 
hand — the  first  of  the  season — and  she  said  to  your  mother 
she  wfis  wearied,  and  lay  down  ;  and  in  a  wee  while,  wlicn 
your  mother  spoke  to  her  again,  she  had  just  strength  to 
say  that  she  was  going,  and  that  she  wasna  feared,  and  that 
was  all.     She  never  spoke  again." 

Janet  paused  to  wipe  the  tears  from  her  face. 

*'  She  was  good  and  bonny,  and  our  Monie,  the  dear  1am- 
mie,  has  been  gi'owing  very  hke  her  this  wliile.  She  'minds 
me  on  her  now,  with  the  long  lashes  lying  over  her  cheeks. 
Miss  Marian's  checks  aye  reddened  that  way  when  she  slept. 
Her  hair  wasna  so  dark  as  our  Mcnic's,  but  it  cui'led  of  itself, 
like  hers." 

J\Ir.s.  Nasmjth  turned  grave  pitying  ej'es  toward  Graeme, 
as  she  ceased  speaking.  Graeme's  heart  gave  a  sudden  pain- 
ful throb,  and  she  went  vciy  pale. 

"  Janet,"  said  she,  with  dilliculty,  "  there  is  not  much  the 
matter  with  my  sister,  is  there  ?  It  wusna  that  you  meant 
iibout  changes !     Mcnie  's  not  going  to  die  like  oiu*  bonny 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


149 


Aunt  Marian !"  Her  tones  gi-cw  slirill  and  incredulous  as 
sliG  went  on. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  dinna  ken — sometimes  I  'm  feared  to 
think  how  it  may  end.    But  oh  !  Miss  Graeme — my  darling — " 

"But  it  is  quite  impossible — it  can't  be,  Janet,"  broke  in 
Gr'ieme. 

"God  knows,  dear."  Janet  said  no  more.  The  look  on 
Graeme's  face  showed  that  words  would  not  help  her  to  com- 
prehend the  trouble  that  seemed  to  be  di'awing  near.  She 
must  bo  loft  to  herself  a  while,  and  Janet  watched  her  as  she 
went  out  over  the  fallen  leaves,  and  over  the  bridge  to  the 
pine  grove  beyond,  with  a  longing  pity  that  fain  would  have 
borne  her  trouble  for  her.  But  she  could  not  l)ear  it  for  her 
— she  could  not  even  help  her  to  bear  it.  She  could  only 
pray  that  whatever  the  end  of  tlieii*  doubt  for  Marian  might 
bo,  the  elder  sister  might  be  made  the  better  and  the  wiser 
for  the  fear  that  had  come  to  her  to-day. 

There  are  some  sorrows  which  the  heart  refuses  to  realize 
or  acknowledge,  even  in  knowing  them  to  be  drawing  near. 
Possible  danger  or  death  to  one  beloved  is  one  of  these  ;  and 
as  Graeme  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  pines  shuddering  with 
the  pam  and  terror  which  Janet's  words  had  stirred,  she  was 
saying  it  was  impossible — it  could  not  be  true — it  could  never, 
never  be  true,  that  her  sister  was  going  to  die.  She  tried  to 
realize  the  possibility,  but  she  could  not.  "When  she  tried 
to  pray  that  the  terrible  dread  might  be  averted,  and  that 
they  might  aU  be  taught  to  be  submissive  in  God's  hands, 
whatever  His  wiU  might  be,  the  words  would  not  come  to 
her.  It  was,  "  No,  no !  no,  no !  it  cannot  bo,"  that  went  up 
through  the  stillness  of  the  pines  ;  the  cry  of  a  heart  not  so 
much  rebellious  as  incredulous  of  the  possibility  of  pain  so 
terrible.  The  darkness  fell  before  she  rose  to  go  home  again, 
and  when  she  came  into  the  firelight  to  the  soimd  of  hajipy 
voices,  Menie's  the  most  mirthful  of  them  all,  her  ton'ors 
seemed  utterly  unreasonaljle,  she  felt  hke  one  waking  from  a 
painful  dream. 


150 


JANirr  S    I<OVE   AND   SERVICE. 


"  What  coiikl  liavo  made  Janet  frighten  herself  and  me 
so?"  she  said,  as  she  spread  out  h(!r  eoM  hands  to  the  l)hizc, 
all  th(!  time  watching  her  sister's  hriglit  face. 

"  Graeme,  tea 's  over.  "Where  have  you  been  a,ll  this  time  ?" 
asked  Rose. 

"  jVFy  falhcr  was  aslimg  where  you  were.  He  wants  to  see 
you,"  said  Will. 

*'  I'll  go  ben  now,"  said  Graeme,  rising. 

The  study  lamp  was  on  the  table  tmlighted.  The  minister 
was  sittuig  in  the  firelight  alone.  Ho  did  not  move  when  the 
door  opened,  until  Graeme  spoke. 

"  I  'm  here,  papa.     Did  you  want  mo  ?" 

"  Graeme,  come  in  and  sit  down.  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you." 

She  sat  down,  but  the  minister  did  not  seem  in  haste  to 
speak.  Ho  was  looking  troubled  and  anxious,  Graenjo 
thought :  and  it  suddenly  came  into  her  mind  as  she  sat 
watching  him,  that  her  father  was  gi'owing  an  old  man.  In- 
deed, the  last  seven  years  had  not  passed  so  lightly  over  him 
as  over  the  others.  The  hair  which  had  been  grey  on  his 
temples  Ijcforc  he  reached  his  prime,  was  silvery  white  now, 
and  he  looked  bowed  and  weary  as  ho  sat  there  gazing  into 
the  fire.  It  came  mto  Graeme's  mind  as  she  sat  there  in  the 
quiet  room,  that  there  might  bo  other  and  sadder  changes 
before  them,  than  even  the  change  that  Janet's  words  had 
implied. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  minister,  at  last,  "has  IVIrs.  Nasmyth 
been  speaking  to  you  ?" 

"  About — "  IMenie,  she  would  have  asked,  but  her  tongue 
refused  to  utter  the  word. 

"  About  ;Mr.  Snow,"  said  her  father,  with  a  smile,  and  some 
liesitation.     Gra(>me  started.     She  had  quite  forgotten. 

"IMrs.  Greenleaf  told  mo  something — and — " 

"  I  beliovo  it  is  a  case  of  tnie  love  with  lum,  if  si-'ch  a  thing 
can  come  to  a  man  after  he  is  fifty — as  indeed  why  should  it 
not  ?"  said  the  minister.  "  Ho  seems  ben '.  on  taking  jMiet 
from  us,  Graeme." 


JANKT  S    I.oVi;    AND    SKItVICE. 


151 


"Papa!  it  hi  too  absiml,"  said  Graeme,  all  her  old  vexation 
coiniii.^-  bade.     Mr.  Elliott  sinil(;<l. 

"  I  must  coiiiess  it  wiiH  in  that  li.i^'ht  I  ,saw  it  iirnt,  and  I  had 
Avcll  ui^li  Ijceii  so  nil  reasonable  as  to  be  vexed  with  our  good 
friend.  But  we  iimst  take  care,  lest  we  allow^  our  own  wishes 
to  intei'ferc  with  what  may  be  for  Mrs.  Nasmyth's  advan- 
tnne." 

"But,  papa,  she  has  been  content  with  lis  all  these  years. 
AVhy  should  there  be  a  cliauf,'e  now  ?" 

"  If  the  change  is  to  bo  for  her  good,  we  must  try  to  per- 
suade her  to  it,  however.  But,  judgmg  from  what  .she  said 
to  lue  this  afternoon,  I  fear  it  will  be  a  difficult  matter." 

"  But,  pa])a,  why  should  wo  seek  to  persuade  her  against 
her  own  judgment." 

"My  dear,  we  don't  need  to  jicrsuadc  her  against  her  judg- 
ment, but  against  her  affection  for  us.  She  only  fears  that 
we  will  miss  her  sadly,  and  she  is  not  quite  sure  whether  she 
ought  to  go  and  leave  us." 

''But  slie  has  been  quite  happy  with  us." 

"Yes,  love — happy  in  doing  what  she  beheved  to  be  her 
duty — as  happy  as  she  couKl  be  so  far  sejiarated  from  those 
whom  she  must  love  better  than  she  loves  us  even.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  her  to-night,  Graeme.  What  a  self-denying 
life  Janet's  has  been !  She  must  be  considered  first  in  this 
matter." 

"  Yes,  if  it  would  make  her  happier — but  it  seems  strange — 
that—" 

"  (iracme,  Mr.  Snow  is  to  send  for  her  mother  and  her  son. 
I  could  see  how  her  heart  leapt  up  at  the  thought  oi  Keeing 
them,  and  having  them  witli  her  again.  It  will  be  a  great 
happiness  for  her  to  provide  a  home  fen*  her  mother  in  her 
old  age.  And  she  ought  to  have  that  happiness  after  such 
a  life  as  hers." 

Graeme  sighed,  and  \\as  silent. 

"  If  we  had  golden  guineas  to  bestow  on  her,  where  wc 
have  copper  coins  only,  wc  could  never  repay  her  love  and 
care  for  us  all;  and  it  will  be  a  matter  of  thanlcfulncss  to 


ill 
It 


•? 


152 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SEIiVICE. 


^'1 


mo  to  Imow  that  she  is  secure  in  a  home  of  her  own  for  tho 
r<'.st  of  her  life." 

"  lint,  i)apa,  wliile  we  have  a  homo,  she  will  never  be  with- 
out one." 

"  I  know,  tleai',  while  we  have  a  homo.  You  need  not  tell 
me  that ;  but  Graeme,  there  is  only  my  frail  life  between  you 
and  homelessness.  Not  that  I  fear  for  you.  You  are  all 
young  and  strong,  and  the  God  whom  I  have  sought  to  servo, 
will  never  leave  my  children.  But  Janet  is  growing  old, 
Graeme,  and  I  do  think  this  way  has  been  providentially 
opened  to  her." 

"  If  it  were  quite  right  to  marry  for  a  homo,  papa — :." 
Graeme  hesitated  and  colored.     Her  father  smiled. 

"  Mrs.  Na.smyth  is  not  so  young  as  you,  my  dear.  She  will 
see  things  dilTereutly.  And  bcsid(^s,  she  always  liked  and 
respected  IVIr.  Snow.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  very  happy 
wth  him." 

"We  all  liked  him,"  said  Graeme,  sighing.  "But  oh!  I 
dread  changes.     I  can't  bear  to  break  up  om*  old  ways." 

"  Graeme,"  said  liei  father,  gravely,  "  changes  must  come, 
and  few  changes  can  be  for  tho  better,  as  far  as  we  are  con- 
cerned. We  have  been  very  happy  of  late — so  happy  that 
I  fear  we  were  in  danger  of  sitting  do^\Ti  contented  with  tho 
things  of  this  life,  and  we  need  reminding.  We  may  think 
om'selvos  happy  if  no  sadder  cliango  than  tliis  comes  to  us." 

The  thought  of  IMcnie  came  back  to  Graeme,  with  a  pang, 
but  she  chd  not  speak. 

"  I  Imow,  dear,"  said  her  father,  kindly,  "  this  will  como 
hardest  upon  you.  It  will  add  gTcatly  to  your  cares  to  have 
jMrs.  Nasmyth  leave  us,  but  you  are  not  a  child  now,  and — " 

"  Oh,  papa !  it  is  not  that — I  mean  it  is  not  that  altogether, 
but — ."  Graeme  paused.  She  was  not  sure  of  her  voice, 
and  she  could  not  bear  to  gileve  her  father.  In  a  little,  she 
asked. 

"TVlicnisittobe?" 

"  I  don't  know,  indeed,  but  soon,  I  suppose  ;  and  my  dear 
child,  I  trust  to  j'ou  to  make  smooth  much  that  might  other- 


I 


rf 


.1 


Janet's  lovk  and  seuvice.  153 

wise  be  not  agreeable  in  this  matter  to  us  aU.  Tlie  chano-o 
you  clread  so  much,  wiU  not  be  very  great.  Our  kind  friciul 
IS  not  gomg  very  far  away,  and  there  wiU  bo  pleasant  thinn-g 
connected  with  the  change.  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  for 
the  best." 

"Shall  I  hght  your  lamp,  papa,"  said  Graeme,  in  a  little 

"No,  love,  not  yet.  I  have  no  mind  for  my  book  to-ni^ht  " 
Graeme  stirred  the  fire,  and  moved  about  the  room  a  httle 
When  she  opened  the  door,  the  sound  of  the  children's  voices 
came  m  mei-rily,  and  she  shrunk  from  going  out  mto  the 
iiglit.  ho  she  sat  down  in  her  accustomed  place  by  the  win- 
dow  and  thought,  and  hstened  to  the  sighs,  that  told  her  that 
ner  latJier  was  busy  with  anxious  thoughts,  too. 

"Only  my  frail  hfe between  my  chilcken  and  homelessness  " 
he  had  said.  It  seemed  to  Graeme,  as  she  sat  there  in  the 
darkness,  that  since  the  mommg,  everything  in  the  world  had 
changed.  They  had  been  so  at  rest,  and  so  happv,  and  now 
I  seemed  to  her,  that  they  could  never  settle  cLvn  to  the 
old  quiet  life  again. 

«.l'/'«  w  T^  '^^^'^^^  "P  ^""  ^^•^*'"  «^^  "i^'mured  to  her- 
self.  "  WeU,  I  ought  no'  to  feai'  the  changes  He  brmgs  -1 
But,  oh!  I  am  afraid."  ^ 


7* 


f 


ii 


I  i 


V 

ii  i< 


CHAPTER. XVI. 

THE  rest  of  the  bairns  received  ilic  tidings  of  the  change 
that  Avas  going  to  take  place  among  thcni,  in  a  veiy 
diffi.'rent  way  from  Graeme.  Their  asttmishment  at  the  idea 
of  Janet's  mamago  was  great,  but  it  did  not  equal  their  de- 
light. (Iraeme  was  in  the  minority  decidedly,  and  had  to 
keep  quiet.  But  then  Janet  was  in  the  minority,  too,  and 
Mr.  Snow's  suit  was  anythmg  but  prosperous  for  some  time. 
Indeed,  he  scarcely  ventured  to  show  his  face  at  tlie  minis- 
ter's house,  Mrs.  Nasmyth  was  so  c\Tldently  out  of  sorts,  anx- 
ious and  unhappy.  Her  uuhappiness  was  manifested  by 
silence  chiefly,  but  the  silent  way  she  had  of  ignoring  Samp- 
son and  his  claims,  discouraging  all  approach  to  the  subject, 
that  lay  so  near  the  good  deacon's  heart,  was  worse  to  bear 
than  open  rebuff  would  have  been  ;  and  wliile  Mrs.  Nasmyth's 
silence  gi'ieved  Mr.  Snow,  the  elaborate  patience  of  his  man- 
ner, his  evident  taking  for  gi-anted  that  "  she  would  get  over 
it,"  that  '*  it  would  all  come  right  m  the  end,"  were  more  than 
she  could  sometimes  jiuiticntly  endm'c. 

*'  He 's  hke  the  lave  o'  them,"  said  she  to  Graeme  one  day, 
after  having  closed  the  door,  on  his  departure,  with  more 
haste  than  was  at  all  necessary.  "  Give  a  man  an  inch,  and 
he  'U  take  an  ell.  Because  I  didna  just  set  my  face  against 
the  whole  matter,  when  the  minister  lirst  spt)ke  aboiit  it,  he  's 
neither  to  hold  nor  bind,  but  *  when  will  it  be  ? '  and  '  when 
will  it  be?'  till  I  have  no  peace  of  my  life  with  hun." 

Graeme  could  not  help  laughing  at  her  excitement. 

"  But,  when  will  it  be  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  My  dear,  I  'm  no  sm*e  that  it  will  ever  be." 

"  Janet ! "  exclaimed  Graeme.     "  What  has  happened  ?  '* 
(154; 


jani:t  s  i.ove  and  service. 


155 


"Nothinpf  haf?  happened  ;  but  I  'ra  no'  sm'c  but  I  ought  to 
have  ]Mit  a  stop  to  the  matter  at  the  very  fir.st.  I  diiina  wcel 
ken  what  to  do." 

"Janef,"  said  (Jraenio,  spcaldng  with  some  cnibarrassnicnt, 

"  my  fatiier  thinks  it  ri^dit,  and  it  does  not  seem  ho so 

strange  as  it  did  at  lirst — and  yon  should  speak  to  Mr.  Snow 
about  it,  at  any  rate." 

"To  jnit  hiin  out  o'  pain,"  said  Janet,  smihng  giiinly. 
"  There 's  no  fear  o'  Inm.  Bat  I  '11  speak  to  him  this  very  night." 

And  so  she  did,  and  that  so  kindly,  that  the  deacon,  taking 
heart,  pleaded  his  own  cause,  with  strong  hopes  of  success. 
But  Janet  would  not  suil'er  herself  to  bo  entreated.  "With 
tearful  c\oh,  she  ^  1  him  of  her  fears  for  INIarian,  and  said, 
"It  would  seem  like  forsaking  the  bairns  in  theu'  trouble,  to 
leave  them  now."  jMr.  Snow's  kind  heart  was  niu(^h  shocked 
at  the  tlKJUght  of  Maiian's  danger.  She  had  been  liis  favor- 
ite among  the  bairns,  and  Emily's  chief  fi-iend  fi'om  the  very 
first,  and  he  could  not  lu'ge  her  going  away,  now  that  there 
was  so  sorrowful  a  reason  for  her  stay. 

"So  you'll  just  tell  the  minister  there  is  to  be  no  more 
said  about  it.     Pie  winna  ask  any  cpiestions,  I  dare  say." 

But  hi  this  Janet  was  mistaken.  He  did  ask  a  great  many 
questions,  and  failing  to  obtain  satisfactory  answers,  took  the 
matter  into  his  own  hands,  and  named  an  early  day  for  the 
niamage.  In  vain  Janet  protested  and  held  back.  Ho  said 
Bhe  had  Ijoen  tliinking  of  others  all  her  hfe,  till  she  had  for- 
gotten how  to  think  of  lu!rsc>lf,  and  needed  some  tnie  to  think 
and  decide  for  her.  As  to  ^Marian's  illness  beh)g  an  excuse, 
it  was  quite  the  reverse.  If  she  was  afraid  ]Marian  would  not 
be  Avell  cared  for  at  home,  she  might  take  her  down  the  brae  ; 
indeed,  he  feared  there  was  some  danger  that  he  Avould  be 
forsaken  of  aU  his  children  Avhen  she  went  away.  And  then 
he  tried  to  thank  her  for  her  care  of  his  motherless  bairns, 
and  i-rojco  down  into  a  silence  more  eloquent  than  words. 

"And,  my  dear  friend,"  said  he,  after  a  little,  "I  shall 
feel,  when  I  am  to  be  taken  away,  I  shall  not  leave  my  chil- 
dren desolate,  while  thev  have  you  to  care  for  them." 


ii 


15G 


JANET  B   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


So  for  Mi's.  Nasmytli  there  waM  no  lielj).  But  on  one 
thing  she  was  doterraiuGcl.  The  day  might  be  fixctl,  but  it 
must  be  sufficiently  distant  to  permit  the  coming  home  of  the 
lads,  if  they  could  come.  They  might  come  or  not,  as  it 
pleased  them,  but  invited  they  must  bo.  She  would  fain  see 
tliem  all  at  home  again,  and  that  for  a  better  rcascm  than  she 
gave  the  minister.  To  Mr.  Snow,  who  doubted  whether 
"  them  l)oys  "  woidd  care  to  come  so  far  at  such  expense,  she 
gave  it  with  a  sadder  face  than  he  had  ever  seen  her  wear. 

"If  they  are  not  all  together  soon,  thoy  may  never  be  to- 
gether on  earth  again  ;  and  it  is  far  better  that  they  should 
come  home,  and  have  a  few  bhthe  days  to  mind  on  after- 
ward, than  that  their  first  home-coming  should  be  to  a  home 
with  the  shadow  of  death  upon  it.  They  must  bo  asked,  any 
way." 

And  so  they  w  jre  written  to,  and  in  due  time  there  came  a 
letter,  saying  that  both  Harrj'  and  Arthur  would  be  home  for 
a  week  at  the  time  appointed.  From  Norman  there  came  no 
letter,  but  one  night,  while  they  were  wondering  whj^  Nor- 
man came  himself.  His  first  greeting  to  Janet  was  in  words 
of  grave  expostulation,  that  she  should  think  of  forsaking  her 
*'  bakns  "  after  all  these  years  ;  but  when  be  saw  how  grave 
her  face  became,  he  took  it  all  back,  and  declared  that  he  had 
been  expectmg  it  all  along,  and  only  wondered  that  matters 
had  not  been  brought  to  a  crisis  much  sooner.  He  rejoiced 
Ml'.  Snow's  heart,  first  by  his  hearty  congi'atulations,  and 
then  by  his  awfid  threats  of  Vv^ngeance  if  Mrs.  Snow  was  not 
henceforth  the  happiest  woman  m  Merleville. 

Nomian  was  greatly  changed  by  his  two  years'  Absence, 
more  than  either  of  his  brothers,  the  sisters  thought.  Arthur 
was  just  the  same  as  ever,  though  he  was  nn  advocate  and 
a  man  of  business;  and  Harry  was  a  boy  with  a  smooth  cliin 
and  red  cheeks,  still.  But,  with  Norman's  brown,  bearded 
face  the  girls  had  to  make  new  acquaintance. 

But,  though  changed  in  appearance,  it  was  in  appearance 
only.  Norman  was  the  same  mirth-loving  lad  as  ever.  He 
was  frank  and  truthful,  too,  if  he  was  still  thoughtless  ;  and 


m 


J 


jaxkt's  love  and  service. 


[57 


Graeme  told  herself  many  a  time,  with  in-ido  and  thankful- 
ness, that  as  yet,  the  world  had  not  chan^^cd  for  the  worse, 
tlie  brother  for  whom  she  had  dreaded  its  temptations  most 
of  all. 

Nonnan's  letters  had  always  been  longest  and  mof^t  fi'c- 
qiient;  and  yet,  it  was  ho  who  had  the  most  to  tell.  If  his 
active  and  exposed  life  as  an  engineer  at  the  "West  had  any- 
thing impleasant  in  it,  this  was  ktjpt  ont  of  sight  at  home,  and 
his  tidventiires  never  wearied  the  children.  His  "  once  npon 
a  time"  was  the  signal  for  silence  and  attention  among  the 
little  ones;  ant!  even  the  older  ones  listened  with  interest  to 
Nonnan's  rambhng  stories.  Kor  did  their  iuterest  cease 
when  the  sparkle  in  Norman's  eye  told  that  his  part  m  the 
tale  was  ended;  and  the  adventures  of  an  imaginary  hero 
begun. 

There  was  one  story  which  they  were  never  th'ed  of  hearing. 
It  needed  none  of  Norman's  imaginarv  horrors  to  chase  the 
blood  fi'om  the  cheeks  of  his  sisters,  when  it  was  told.  It 
was  the  story  of  the  burning  steamboat,  and  how  little  Hilda 
Bremer  had  been  saved  fi'om  it;  the  only  one  out  of  a  faniily 
of  eight.  Father,  mother,  brothers,  dll  perished  together;  and 
she  was  left  alone  in  a  sti'ango  land,  with  nothing  to  keep 
her  from  despair  but  the  kind  words  of  strang^ers,  uttered  in  a 
tongue  that  she  could  not  understand.  It  would,  perhaps, 
have  been  wiser  in  Nonnan  to  have  given  her  \xp  to  the  land 
people  who  had  kno\NTi  her  parents  in  their  own  land;  but  ho 
had  saved  the  child's  life,  and  when  she  climg  to  liim  ui  her 
sorrow,  calling  him  dear  names  in  her  own  tongue,  he  could 
not  bear  to  send  her  away. 

"  These  people  were  poor,  and  had  many  children  of  their 
own,"  said  Norman.  "  I  would  have  thought  it  a  hard  lot  for 
Menie  or  Rosie  to  go  with  them;  and  when  she  begged  to 
stay  with  me,  I  could  not  send  her  with  them.  If  it  had  not 
been  so  far,  I  would  have  sent  her  to  you,  Graeme.  But  as 
I  could  n't  do  that,  I  kept  her  with  me  while  I  stayed  in  C. 
and  there  I  sent  her  to  school.  They  say  she  bids  fair  to  be 
a  learned  lady  some  day." 


158 


.lAXKTS    LoVK    AM)   SIlKVrCK. 


Tliis  was  fill  item  of  iinws  tlmt  Nonnan's  lot  tors  had  not 
coiiv('V(>(l.  Tlwvoiilvlvucw  that  ho  hail  Haviul  Hihhi  from  tho 
liuniiiij^'  boat,  and  tliat  ho  had  boon  kind  to  her  aftor- 
uai'ds. 

"JJiit  Norman,  man,  tho  oxjunisi^ !  "  said  tho  ])nidont  Mrs. 
Nasmytli,  "you  havoiia  siu'cly  run  yourself  in  di-btV"  Nor- 
man, lan,!.;h(HL 

•'  No;  but  it  has  boon  t^oso  shaving  somotimoa.  Howovor, 
it  would  havo  boon  that  anyway.  I  am  afraid  I  havo  not.  the 
faculty  for  kooi)hig  monoy,  and  I  might  havo  spont  it  to  worse 
purposo." 

'And  is  tho  little^  tiling gi*at(^ful?"  aslcod  Graomo. 
'  Oh!  yi>s;  I  supposo  so.     She  is  a  good  litth;  thing,  and  is 
always  glad  to  soo  nw  in  hor  quiet  way." 

"It  's  a  pity  sho  's  no'  bonny,"  said  ^Marian. 

"Oh!  sho  is  bonny  in  (Jorman  fasluon;  fair  and  fat." 

"How  old  is  sho ? "  asked  INlrs.  Nasmyth. 

Norman,  oonsiderod. 

"  Well,  I  roally  can't  say.  Judging  by  hor  inches,  I  should 
say  about  liosie's  ago.  But  sho  is  wise  enough  and  old- 
fashiimod  enough  to  be  liosie's  gTandmothor.  She  's  a 
queer  little  thing." 

"Tell  us  nuny,"  said  Hose;  "do  you  go  to  see  lier  often?" 

"As  often  as  I  can.  She  is  ver}'  quiet;  she  was  tho  oidy 
girl  among  tho  eight,  and  a  womanly  httle  thing  cvtni  tlion. 
You  should  hear  h(>r  talk  about  hor  little  business  matters. 
My  dear  ]\Irs.  Nasmyth,  you  need  not  bo  afraid  of  my  being 
exti-avagant,  with  such  a  careful  little  woman  to  call  mo  to 
account. 

"'  I  havo  a  gi'oat  mhid  to  send  her  homo  to  you  in  the 
spring,  Oraomo.  It  seems  very  sad  for  a  child  like  her  to  be 
growhig  up  A\  ith  no  other  Innno  but  a  school.  Sho  seems 
happy  enough,  howovoi."    "And  would  she  like  to  come?" 

"She  says  she  would  n't;  but,  of  course,  she  would  lilce 
if  she  wore  once  here.     I  must  see  about  it  in  the  spring 

The  wedding-day  camo,  and  in  spite  of  many  efforts  to  j  "o- 
vent  it,  it  was  rather  a  sad  day  to  them  all.     It  found  Janet 


.j 


JANi:i  H    I.OVrC    AND   SKRVICK. 


159 


still  "  in  a  Hwithor."  Slio  could  not  divest  herself  of  the  idea 
that  slio  -sviis  forsaldii<j^  "the  buiniH." 

"And,  Oil!  MisH  (Iraenie,  my  dear,  if  it  wercna  for  the 
thouf,'ht  of  seeinj^  my  mother  and  Sandy,  my  heart  would 
fail  me  quite.  And  arc  you  (^uite  sure  that  you  are  pleast'd 
now,  dear  V  " 

"Janet,  it  ^vas  because  I  was  selfish  that  I  wasna  pleased 
from  the  vciy  first;  and  you  arc  not  really  going  away  from 
lis,  only  just  down  tlu;  brae." 

Graeme  did  not  look  very  glad,  however.  But  if  the  wed- 
ding-day was  rather  sad,  Thanlvsgiving-day,  that  soon  f(jllowed, 
was  far  otherwise.  It  \\as  si)ent  at  the  Dr'acon's.  IMiss 
Lovejoy  distinguishiid  luirsclf  forever  1)y  her  (ihicken-pies  and 
fixings.  ]Mr.  and  ]Mrs.  Snow  surpassed  themselves  as  liost 
and  host(>ss;  and  even  the  muiist(!r  Avas  merry  with  tlic  rest. 
Emily  Avas  at  home  for  the  occasion;  and  though  at  fii-st  she 
had  been  at  a  loss  how  to  take  the  cliangc,  IMcnic's  dehght 
decided  her,  and  she  was  delighted,  too. 

They  gi'cw  quiet  in  the  evenuig  but  not  sad  Seated 
around  the  fire  in  the  parlor,  the  young  people  spoke  much 
of  the  time  of  their  coming  to  ]M(  rleville.  And  then,  they 
went  fui'ther  back,  and  spoke  about  their  old  home,  and  their 
mother,  and  their  long  voj'agc  on  the  "  Steadfast." 

"I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Allan  Iluthven,"  said 
Marian.  "  It  'a  strange  that  you  have  never  seen  him, 
Ai-thur." 

"  I  may  have  seen  him  twenty  times  without  knowing  him. 
You  mind,  I  was  not  on  the  '  Steadfast'  with  j'ou." 

"But  Hany  saw  liim;  and,  surely,  he  could  not  have 
changed  so  much  but  that  he  would  knoAv  him  now  if  he  saw 
him." 

"And  do  you  know  no  one  of  the  name?"  asked  Graeme. 

"  I  have  heard  of  several  Ruthvens  in  Canada  West.  And 
the  house  of  Elpliistone  and  Gilchrist  have  a  Western  agent 
of  that  name.  Do  you  know  anything  about  him  Hany  ? 
Who  knows  but  he  may  be  i'l^ian  Ruthvcn  of  the  *  Stead- 
fast.'" 


JL...aUIMII 


160 


JANKT8    LOVi:   AND   SKIlVICi:. 


I!!  li*. 


k  \ 


I'  I 


"No,  I  thouirlit  lio  laij^ht  be,  ;nul  insulo  in(|uincs,"  said 
IlaiTv.  '"lint  thai  Ilutlivc'u  set'ius  qiiito  an  old  f{);^iu.  Ho 
Las  boon  in  tUo  c'inj>loy!iu.'iit  of  that  linn  over  since  the  Hood, 
— :'.t  least,  a  long  time.  Do  3011  mind  Allan  llutbven, 
Mcnie  ?" 

"  ?dind  him !"  That  she  did.  Menic  wan  very  quiet  to-night, 
— sayuig  little,  but  listening  happily  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa, 
with  her  head  on  C»raeme's  knee. 

" .Vllan  ^\as  the  lirst  one  I  heard  say  om*  IMcnic  was  a 
beauty,"  said  N»)rmaii.     "  ]Menio,  do  you  nund  ?" 

IMenie  laughed.     "  I'cs,  I  muid." 

''  But  I  think  Kosie  was  his  pet.  Graeme,  don't  you  mind 
how  he  used  to  walk  up  and  down  the  deck,  with  Rosio  in 
his  arms  ?" 

"  But  that  wa.s  to  rest  Graeme,"  said  Harry.  "  Miss  JRosio 
was  a  small  tyraat  in  those  days." 

Rosie  shook  her  head  at  liim. 

"  Eh  !  wasna  she  a  cankered  faiiy  ?"  said  Norman,  taking 
Rosie's  fair  face  betwciii  his  hands.  *'  Graeme  had  enough 
ado  with  von,  I  can  tell  vou." 

'*  And  with  yon,  too.  Never  heed,him,  Rosie,"  said  Graeme, 
smiling  at  her  darling. 

*'  I  used  to  adniu'e  Graeme's  patience  on  the  *  Steadfast,'  " 
said  Harry. 

"  1  did  that  before  the  days  of  the  '  Stcatlfast,' "  said  Ai'thur. 

Rosie  pouted  her  pretty  lips. 

"  I  must  have  been  au  awful  creature." 

"  Oh  !  awful,"  said  Norman. 

"  A  spt)ilt  bau'n,  if  over  there  was  one,"  said  HaiTy.  "  I 
think  I  see  you  hiding  yoiu*  face,  and  refusing  to  look  at 
any  of  us." 

"  I  never  thought  Graeme  could  make  anvthing  of  vou," 
said  Norman. 

"  Graeme  has  though,"  said  the  ilder  sister, laughing.  "  I 
wouldna  give  my  bonny  Scottish  Rose,  for  all  your  western 
lilies.  Noruian." 

And  so  they  went  on,  jestingly. 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICK. 


IGl 


"  Mcnic,"  sakl  Aiiluir,  sudtloiily,  "  what  do  you  roo  in 
the  fire?" 

Moiiic  Avtis  gazing  with  darkening  eyes,  in  among  the  red 
embers.     She  started  when  her  l>r()thcr  spc^ko. 

"  I  see  —  Oh !  many  things.  I  see  our  old  garden  at 
homo, — in  Clayton,  I  m(>an — and " 

"  It  must  bo  an  imngmary  garden,  iL^n.  I  am  sure  you 
canna  mind  that." 

"Mind  it!  indeed  I  do.  I  see  it  as  plainly  as  possible, 
just  as  it  used  to  be.  Only  somehow,  the  spring  and  sum- 
mer flowers  all  seem  to  be  in  bloom  together.  I  see  the  lilies 
and  the  daisies,  and  the  tall  white  rosebushes  blossoming  to 
the  veiy  top." 

"  A.nd  the  ]>rt>;id  gi'een  walk,"  said  Harry. 

"  And  tlie  summer  house." 

"And  tlio  hawthorn  hedge," 

"  And  the  lir  trees,  dark  and  high." 

"  iVnd  (he  two  api)le  trees." 

"  Yes, — the  tree  of  life,  and  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  I  used  to  think  them,"  said  Norman. 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Menie.  "  AV'hcnevcr  I  thmk  of  the  gar- 
den of  Eden,  I  fancy  it  like  our  garden  at  home." 

"  Your  imagination  is  not  very  bnlliant,  if  you  can't  got 
beyond  tliat  for  Paradise,"  said  Arthur,  laughing. 

"  Well,  maybe  not,  but  I  always  do  thhik  of  it  so.  Oh  I 
it  was  a  bonny  place.     I  wish  I  could  see  it  again." 

"  "Well,  you  nnist  bo  ready  to  go  homo  with  me,  in  a  year 
or  two,"  said  Norman.  "  You  needna  laugh,  (iraeme,  I  am 
going  home  as  soon  as  I  get  rich." 

"  In  a  year  or  two!  yon 'ro  nae  bl'it(; !" 

'•Oh!  we  whma  need  a  great  fortune,  to  go  home  fen*  a 
visit.  We'll  come  back  again.  It  will  Ix;  tune  enough  to 
make  our  fortune  then.     So  be  ready  Menie,  when  I  come  for 

you." 

"  ^lany  a  thing  mny  happen,  before  a  year  or  two,"  said 
Marian,  gravely. 

"Many  a  tiling,  indeed,"  said  Gracmo  and  Norman, in  a 


102 


.TANF.T  S    I.OVK    \:Sl)   SERVICE. 


I!'  B  > 


broiitli.     But  wliilo  (Jruonio  ^nzcOt  wivli  siiililcn  f^-anty  into 
licr  Kistor's  (liislicl  iacc,  Noriuiin  addoa.  lanj^hiiij^ly, 

'•I  sli()!il(l  n't  wonder  but  you  would  prcfor  anothor  es- 
cort, l)(>for(!  that  time  comes.  I  say,  ]\Ienic,  did  anybody  ever 
tell  you  how  bonny  you  arc  growing?" 

Menio  hinglied,  softly. 

"Oh!  yes.  Emily  told  mo  when  she  came  home  ;  and  so 
did  Harry.  And  you  have  told  mo  so  yourself  to-day,  al- 
ready." 

"  You  vain  ftiiry !  and  do  you  really  think  you  're  bonny  ?" 

"  Janet  says,  I  'm  like  Aunt  jMarian,  and  she  was  bonnier 
oven  than  mamma." 

"  Like  Amit  ^Marian!"  (Iraeme  i-emembered  Jjinct's  words 
with  a  pang.  But  slio  strove  to  put  the  thov';ht  from  her  ; 
and  with  so  many  l)rigiit  fiices  i«nmd  her,  it  was  not  dilhcult 
to  do  to-night.  Surely  if  Uarian  were  ill,  and  in  danger,  the 
rest  would  see  it  too.  And  even  Janet's  anxiety,  had  been  at 
rest  for  a  wliile,  i\Ienie  was  better  now.  How  meiry  she 
liad  been  with  lua*  brothers  for  the  last  few  davs.  And 
though  she  seer.ied  very  weary  to-night,  no  wonder.  So  were 
they  iii\.  Even  Eosie,  the  tireless,  was  half  asleep  on  Ar- 
thur's knee,  and  when  all  the  pleasant  bustle  was  over,  and 
they  were  settled  down  in  their  old  quiet  way,  her  sister 
would  be  herself  again.  Nc^thing  so  terrible  c(mld  be  draw- 
ing near,  as  the  dread  which  Janet  had  startled  her  with 
that  da  v. 

"  Emily,"  said  Harry,  "  why  do  you  persist  in  going  back 
to  that  horrid  school  ?  AVhy  don't  you  stay  at  home,  and 
(^njov  vourself  ?" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  any  horrid  school,"  said  Emily. 

"You  can't  make  me  beheve  thiit  you  would  rather  be  at 
school  t]:an  at  home,  doing  as  you  please,  and  having  a  good 
time  with  Kose  and  Mer.ie  here." 

Emily  laughed.  "I  would  lilcc  that ;  but  I  like  going  back 
to  school  too." 

"  But  you'  11  be  getting  so  awfully  wise  that  there  will  bo 
no  talking  to  you,  if  you  stay  much  longer." 


JANKTS    LOVE   AND   SERVICi:. 


163 


"In  that  case,  it  might  do  you  good  to  Esten,"  said  Emily, 
laiigliiug. 

"  But  yon  arc  altogctlior  too  wiso  ali-eady,"  Hany  persist- 
ed "  I  really  am  quite  afraid  to  open  my  lips  in  your  pres- 
ence." 

"  We  have  all  l^ecn  wontlering  at  your  strange  silence,  and 
lamenting  it,"  said  Ai-thur. 

"  But,  indeed,  I  must  have  a  vvord  with  the  deacon  about 
it,"  said  Harry.  "I  can't  understand  how  he  has  allowed 
it  so  long  ah'cady.  I  must  bring  my  influence  to  bear  on 
him." 

"You  needn't,"  said  Emily.  "I  have  almost  prevailed 
upon  Graeme,  to  let  Menie  go  back  with  me.  There  will  be 
two  learned  ladies  then." 

Graeme  smiled,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  till  summer.  We  '11  scic  what  summer  brings.  3Iany 
things  may  happen  l)(-fore  summer,"  she  added,  gravely. 

They  all  assented  gi-avely  too,  but  not  one  of  tliein  with 
any  anxious  tliought  of  trouble  drawing  near.  Tliey  grew 
quiet  aft(>r  that,  and  each  sat  thinking,  but  it  was  of  plea^sanfc 
things  mostly ;  and  if  on  anyone  there  fell  a  shadow  for  a 
moment,  it  was  but  with  the  tliought  of  the  morrow's  paii- 
ing,  and  never  with  the  cbead  that  they  might  not  aU  meet 
on  cai-tli  again. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

r^r^HEY  all  went  away — the  lads  and  Emily,  and  quietness 
\  foil  on  those  that  remained.  The  reaction  from  the 
excitement  in  which  they  had  been  hving  for  the  last  fow 
weeks  was  very  evident  in  all.  Even  Will,  and  Rosie  needed 
coaxing  to  go  back  to  the  learning  of  lessons,  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  their  old  pleasures  ;  and  so  Graeme  did  not  wonder 
that  Marian  v.as  dull,  and  did  not  care  to  exert  herself.  The 
weather  had  changed,  too,  and  they  quite  agreed  in  thinking 
it  Avas  much  nicer  to  stay  within  doors  than  to  take  their 
usual  walks  and  diives.  So  Marian  occupied  the  ann-chair 
or  the  sofa,  with  work  in  her  hand,  or  without  it,  as  the  case 
might  be,  and  her  sister's  fears  with  regard  to  her  were,  for 
a  tune,  at  rest.  For  she  did  not  look  ill ;  she  was  as  cheerful 
as  ever,  entering  into  all  the  new  arrangements  which  Janet's 
departui'e  rendered  necessary  with  interest,  and  sharmg  with 
Graeme  the  light  household  tasks  that  fell  to  her  lot  when 
the  "  help  "  was  busy  with  heavier  matters. 

There  was  not  much  that  was  unpleasant,  for  the  kind  and 
watchful  eyes  of  IMrs.  Snow  were  quite  capable  of  keeping 
in  view  the  interests  of  two  households,  and  though  no 
longer  one  of  the  family,  she  was  still  the  ruling  sphit  in 
their  domestic  aiTairs.  With  her  usual  care  for  the  welfare 
of  the  liairns,  she  had  sent  the  experienced  Hannah  Lovejoy 
up  the  brae,  while  she  contented  herscLf  with  "  breaking  in  " 
Scphronia,  Hannah's  less  helpful  3'ounger  sister.  There  was 
a  great  chtlerenco  between  the  service  of  love  that  had  all 
their  life  long  shielded  them  from  trouble  and  annoyance, 
and  Miss  Lovojoy's  abinipt  and  rather  familiar  ministrations. 
But  Hannah  was  faithful  and  capable,  indeed,  '*  a  ti-easure," 
(164) 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE, 


165 


in  these  clays  of  destitution  in  the  way  of  help  ;  and  if  her 
service  was  such  as  money  could  well  pay,  she  did  not  f^iidgo 
it,  while  her  wages  were  secure  ;  and  housekeeping  and  its  re- 
sponsibilities were  not  so  chsagi-eeablo  to  Graeme  as  she  had 
feared.  Indeed,  by  the  time  the  fivst  letter  from  Norman 
came,  fall  of  mock  sympathy  for  her  under  her  new  trials, 
she  was  quite  as  ready  to  laugh  at  herself  as  any  of  the  rest. ' 
Her  faith  in  Hannah  was  becoming  fixed,  and  it  needed  somo 
expostulations  from  Mrs.  Snow  to  prevent  her  from  letting 
the  supreme  power,  as  to  household  matters,  pass  into  the 
hands  of  her  energetic  auxiliarv. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  there  's  many  a  thmg  that  Hannah 
could  do  well  enough,  maybe  better  than  you  could,  for  that 
matter  ;  but  you  should  do  them  yourself,  notwithstanchng. 
It's  better  for  her,  and  it's  better  for  you,  too.  Every 
woman  should  take  pleasure  in  these  household  cares.  If 
they  are  h'ksome  at  fiist  they  winna  be  ^aIicu  you  are  used 
to  them  ;  and,  my  dear,  it  may  help  you  through  many  on 
horn*  of  trouble  and  weaiiness  to  bo  able  to  turn  yoiu'  hand 
to  these  things.     There  i;^  gi'eat  comfort  m  it  sometimes." 

Graeme  laughed,  and  suggested  other  rcsoun:es  that  might 
do  as  well  to  fall  back  upon  in  a  time  of  trouble,  but  Mrs. 
Snow  was  not  to  be  moved. 

"  ]My  dear,  that  may  be  all  true.  I  ken  books  are  fine 
things  to  keep  folk  from  thinking  for  a  time  ;  but  the  trouble 
that  is  put  away  that  way  comes  back  on  one  again ;  and 
it 's  only  v/hen  ioYk  are  doing  their  duty  that  the  Lord  gives 
them  abiding  comf(n*t.  I  ken  by  myself.  There  have  been 
days  in  my  lil'e  when  my  heart  must  have  been  broken,  or 
my  brain  gvown  cruzed,  if  I  liadua  nred<'d  to  do  this  and 
to  do  that,  to  go  here  and  to  go  tlK>ro.  5Iy  dear,  woman's 
work,  that's  never  done,  is  a  great  help  to  many  a  one,  as 
well  as  me.  And  trouble  or  no  trouble,  it  is  what  you  ought 
to  knov;  and  do  in  your  father's  house." 

So  (iraeme  submitted  to  her  friend's  judgment,  and  con- 
scientiously tried  to  become  wise  in  all  household  matters, 
keeping  trac^k  of  pieces  of  Ijccf  and  bags  of  Hour,  of  l)reak- 


166 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


i!  * 

; 
■I 

I 


'5 


III- 


H 


fasts,  (linncr.j  and  suppers,  in  a  way  that  excited  admiration, 
and  sonictiuics  otli(7r  feelings,  in  the  mind  of  the  capable 
Hannah. 

So  a  very  pleasant  winter  Avore  on,  and  the  days  were  bc- 
{^nnmg  to  glow  long  .again,  before  the  old  dread  was 
aNN  akened  in  G/aenie.  For  only  in  one  way  was  Marian 
different  fi'om  her  old  self.  She  did  not  come  to  exert  her- 
self. She  was,  perhaps,  a  little  quieter,  too,  but  she  was 
quite  cheei-fiil,  taldng  as  much  interest  as  ever  in  home 
affairs  and  in  the  affairs  of  the  village.  Almost  every  day, 
after  the  sleighing  became  good,  she  enjoyed  a  diive  with 
Graeme  or  her  father,  or  with  jilr.  Snow  in  his  big  sleigh 
after  the  "  bomiy  greys."  They  paid  visits,  too,  stopping  a 
few  minutes  at  Judge  Merle's  or  Islr.  Greenleaf 's,  or  at  some 
other  friendly  home  in  the  \illiige  ;  pnd  if  their  friends'  eyes 
grew  gi'ave  and  veiy  tender  at  the  sight  of  them,  it  chd  not 
for  a  long  time  come  into  Graeme's  mind  that  it  was  because 
they  saw  something  that  was  invisible  as  yet  to  her's.  So 
the  time  wore  on,  and  not  one  in  the  minister  s  happj'  house- 
hold knew  that  each  day  that  passed  so  peacefully  over 
them  was  leaving  one  less  between  '.hem  and  a  great  sorrow. 

The  first  fear  was  awakened  in  Graeme  by  a  very  little 
thing.  iVfter  several  stormy  Sabbaths  had  kept  her  sister  at 
home  fi'om  cluu'ch,  a  mild,  bright  day  came,  but  it  did  not 
tempt  her  out. 

"I  am  very  sorry  not  to  go,  Graeme,"  said  she;  "but  I 
was  so  weary  last  thue.     Let  me  stay  at  home  to-day." 

So  she  stayed  :  and  all  the  v/ay  down  the  hiU  and  over 
Ahe  valley  the  thought  of  her  darkened  the  simlight  to  her 
sister's  eyes.  Nor  was  the  shadow  chased  away  by  the  many 
kindly  greetings  that  awaited  her  at  the  cliurch  door  ;  for  no 
one  asked  why  her  sister  Avas  not  \\  ith  her,  but  only  how  she 
seemed  to-daj'.  It  was  well  that  the  sunshhie,  coming  m  on 
the  corner  where  she  sat,  gave  her  an  excuse  for  letting  fall 
her  veil  over  her  face,  for  many  a  bitter  tear  fell  behind  it. 
When  the  services  were  over,  and  it  was  time  to  go  home, 
she  shrunk  fi'om  answering  more  inquiries  about  Marian, 


i 


^■1 


I 


'^l 


JANETS    LOVL;    A^'D   SEIiVICE. 


107 


for 

Icr 

lio 

llG 

1)11 

111 

It. 

^» 


and  liastcnctl  away,  tlionyli  slio  knew  that  Mrs.  Mcrlo  Avaa 
waiting  for  licr  at  the  otlicr  oncl  of  the  broiul  iimh,  and  that 
Mrs.  Grccnleaf  had  much  ado  to  keep  fast  liold  of  her  ini- 
patioiit  boy  till  sho  should  speak  a  word  with  her.  But  she 
could  not  trust  herself  to  meet  them  and  to  answer  them 
quietly,  and  hurried  away.  So  she  went  liome  again,  over 
the  valley  and  up  the  hiU  with  the  darkness  still  round  her, 
till  Meuie's  bright  smile  and  cheerful  welcome  chased  both 
pain  and  darkness  away. 

But  when  the  rest  were  gone,  and  the  sisters  were  left  to 
the  Sabixith  ({uiet  of  the  deserted  home,  the  fear  came  Ixick 
again,  foi  in  a  little  ^larian  laid  herself  down  ^\itli  a  sigh  of 
weariness,  and  slept  v.itli  her  cheek  laid  on  the  Bible  that 
she  held  in  her  hixnd.  As  (iraeme  listened  to  her  quick 
breathing,  and  watched  the  hectic  rishig  on  her  cheek,  she  felt, 
for  the  moment,  as  though  all  hope  were  vain.  But  she  put 
the  thought  from  hor.  It  was  too  dreadful  to  \)Q  true  ;  and 
she  chid  herself  for  always  seeing  tlie  possible  dark  side  of 
future  events,  and  told  iK'rself  that  she  must  change  in  this 
respect.  AVitli  all  her  might  sho  strove  to  reason  away  the 
sickening  fear  at  her  heart,  saying  how  utterly  beyond  belief 
it  was  that  Menie  could  bo  going  to  die — Menie,  who  had 
always  been  so  well  and  so  merry.  Sho  was  growing  too 
fast,  tliat  was  all  ;  and  when  the  spring  came  again,  they 
would  all  go  to  some  quiet  place  hy  the  sea-slKU-e,  and  run 
about  among  the  rocks,  and  over  the  sands,  till  she  sln)uld 
be  well  and  strong  as  ever  again. 

"  If  spring  were  only  ccnne  !"  sho  sighed  to  herself.  But 
lirst  there  were  weeks  of  frost  and  snow,  and  th(>n  v»eeks  of 
bleak  weather,  before  the  mild  sea-bri'ezes  could  blow  on  her 
drooping  llower,  and  (Iracme  could  not  r(\ason  her  fears 
away  ;  nor  when  the  pamful  liour  of  thought  was  over,  and 
3lenie  opened  her  eyes  with  a  smile,  did  lu-r  cheerful  sweet- 
ness chase  it  avvay. 

After  this,  for  a  few  days,  Graemo  grew  impatient  of  h<'r 
sister's  liuietness,  and  si  rove  to  win  her  U)  her  old  employ- 


ments again. 


She  would  have  her  struggle  against  her  wish 


Ill  ww^s 


Ik 


I!  9  i 


168 


.TANin's    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


to  bo  still,  and  took  hci*  to  rule  and  to  visif,  and  even  to 
walk,  when  tlio  diiy  was  lino.  But  this  was  not  for  long. 
]\I(>iuo  yielded  ahvays,  and  tried  with  all  her  niij^^ht  to  seem 
well  and  not  weary  ;  but  it  was  not  always  with  success  ; 
and  (Iraonio  saw  tliat  it  was  in  vain  to  urge  her  beyond  her 
strength  ;  so,  in  a  little,  she  was  allowed  to  fall  back  into 
her  old  ways  again. 

"I  will  speak  to  Dr.  Chittenden,  and  know  the  worst," 
said  (Jraenie,  to  herself,  but  her  heart  grew  sick  at  tho 
thought  of  what  tho  worst  might  bo. 

Uy  and  by  there  came  a  inikl  bright  day,  more  like  April 
than  Januaiy.  INIr.  Ellit)tt  had  gone  to  a  distant  part  of  tho 
parish  for  tho  day,  and  had  taken  AViU.  and  Rosie  with  him, 
a'ul  tho  sisters  wore  left  alone.  (Jraemc  would  have  gladly 
availed  herself  of  Deacon  Snow's  oiler  to  lend  them  grey 
Major,  or  to  (hivo  them  himself  for  a  few  miles.  Tlie  day 
was  so  line,  she  said  to  Menie  ;  but  she  was  loth  to  go.  It 
would  be  so  pleasant  to  be  a  whole  day  quite  alone  together. 
Or,  if  (jlracmo  liked,  they  might  send  down  for  Janet  in  the 
afternoon.     Ctraemc  sighed,  and  urged  no  more. 

"Wo  can  finish  our  book,  you  Imow,"  went  on  Menio. 
"And  there  are  the  last  letters  to  read  to  Mrs.  Snow.  I 
h(ipe  nobody  will  come  in.     Wo  shall  have  such  a  quiet  day." 

But  this  was  not  to  be.  There  was  the  sound  of  sleigh- 
bells  beneath  the  window,  and  Cxraemo  looked  out. 

"It  is  Dr.  Chittenden,"  said  she. 

IMarian  rose  from  the  sofa,  trying,  as  she  always  did,  when 
the  Di*.  came,  to  look  strong  and  well.  She  did  not  take  his 
visits  to  herself.  Dr.  Chittenden  had  always  con\o  ]io\v  and 
then  to  see  her  father,  and  if  his  visits  had  been  moru  fre- 
quent of  late  they  had  not  boon  more  formal  or  professional 
than  before.  Graeme  watched  him  as  be  fastcjned  his 
horse,  and  tlien  went  to  the  door  to  meet  him. 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  as  he  took  her  hand,  and  turned  her 
face  to  tho  light,  "  are  you  (juito  well  to-day  ?  " 

"Quito  well,"  said  (»racmc  ;  but  she  was  very  pale,  and 
her  cold  hand  trembled  in  his. 


JANET  S    LOVK    iVND    SERVTcE. 


16!) 


,  when 

\,ko  lii« 

)\v  and 

ro  irc- 

ssional 

ed  liis 

ed  her 

Ic,  and 

*'  You  are  quite  well,  I  see,"  said  be,  as  Marian  came  for- 
ward to  f,''rcct  liini. 

"I  ouLjlit  to  be,"  said  Marian,  laiigliing  and  pointing  to  an 
empty  bottle  on  tlie  mantelpiece. 

"  I  sec.     "NVe  must  bave  it  replenisbed." 

"D.)n't  you  tbink  sometbing  less  bitter  would  do  as 
well  ?  "  said  Marian,  making  a  pitiful  face.  "  Graeme  don't 
tbmk  it  does  mo  mucb  good." 

"  Miss  Graeme  bad  best  take  care  bow  sbc  speaks  disre- 
spectfully of  my  precious  bitters.  But,  111  see.  I  bavo 
some  doubts  about  tliom  myself.  You  ougbt  to  be  getting 
rosy  and  strong  upon  tliem,  and  I  'm  afraid  you  arc  not," 
said  be,  looking  gi'avcly  into  tlie  fair  pale  face  tbat  be  took 
between  bis  bands.  He  looked  up,  and  met  Graeme's  look 
fixed  anxiously  upon  bim.  Ho  did  not  avert  bis  quicldy  as 
be  bad  sometimes  done  on  sucb  occasions.  Tbe  gi'avity  of 
bis  look  deep(med  as  bo  met  ber's. 

'*  Wbere  bas  your  fatbcr  gone  ?  "  asked  be. 

"  To  tbo  Bell  neigbborbood,  for  tbo  day.  Tbe  cbildren 
have  gone  with  bim,  and  Graeme  and  I  are  going  to  haye  a 
nice  quiet  day,"  said  Marian. 

"  you  are  going  with  me,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  With  you !  " 

"  Yes.     Have  you  any  objections  ?  " 

"  No.  Only  I  don't  care  to  ride  just  for  the  sake  of 
riding,  without  having  anywhere  to  go." 

"  But,  I  am  going  to  take  you  somewhere.  I  came  for 
that  piirposc.  Mrs.  Greenleaf  bcnt  me.  She  wants  you  to- 
day." 

"  But,  I  can  go  there  any  time.  I  was  there  not  long  ago. 
I  would  rather  stay  at  home  to-day  with  Graeme,  thank 

you." 

"And  what  am  I  to  say  to  Mrs.  Greenleaf?  No,  I  'm  not 
going  without  you.     So,  got  ready  and  come  with  me." 

Menie  pouted.  "  And  Graeme  had  just  consented  to  my 
staying  at  homo  quietly  for  the  da}'." 

"Which  does  not  prove  ]\Iiss  Graeme's  wisdom,"  snid  the 
8 


JANKT  8    LOVK   AND   8KUVICE. 


I! 


If! 


1!'    5; 


doctor.  "  Wliy,  cliild,  how  many  April  days  do  you  tliink 
we  are  going  to  have  in  JamiaiyV  Be  thankfiU  for  the 
chance  to  go  out ;  for,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken,  we  are  to 
have  a  storm  that  will  keep  us  all  at  homo.  Miss  Graeme, 
get  your  sister's  things.  It  is  health  for  her  to  be  out  in 
such  a  day." 

Graeme  went  without  a  word,  and  when  she  came  back 
the  doctor  said, 

"  There  is  no  haste.  I  am  going  farther,  and  will  call  as 
I  come  back.     Lie  down,  dear  child,  and  rest  just  now." 

Graeme  left  tlie  room,  and  as  the  doctor  turned  to  go  out, 
she  beckoned  him  into  the  study. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  IMcnie  is  in  danger  ?  " 
said  she,  with  a  gas]). 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sm'o  what  I  shall  say  to  you.  It  will 
depend  on  how  you  are  likely  to  hsteu,"  said  the  doctor, 
gravel3\ 

Graeme  strove  to  command  herself  and  speak  calmly. 

"  Anything  is  better  than  suspense."  Then,  lajing  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  she  addetl,  "  She  is  not  worse  I  Surely 
you  would  have  told  us ! " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  calm  yoiu'self.  She  is  not  worse 
than  she  has  been.  The  chances  of  rccoverj'^  are  altogc^ther 
in  her  favor.  The  indications  of  disease  are  comparatively 
sUght — that  is,  she  has  youth  on  her  side,  and  a  good  consti- 
tution. If  the  month  of  March  wore  over,  we  would  have 
little  to  fear  with  another  summer  before  us.  Your  mother 
did  not  die  of  consumption  ?  " 

"  No,  but "     Tlie  remembrance  of  what  Janet  had 

told  her  about  their  "bonny  Aunt  Marian"  took  away 
Graeme's  power  to  speak. 

"Well,  we  have  everything  to  hope  if  we  can  see  her 
safely  through  the  spring  Avithout  taking  cold,  and  you  must 
keep  her  cheerful." 

"  She  is  always  cheerful." 

"  Well — that 's  well.  You  must  not  let  her  do  anything  to 
weary  herself.     I  don't  hke  the  stove  heat  for  her.     Yt)U 


tliink 

r  the 

• 

ire  to 
acme, 
3ut  in 

back 

;all  as 

>> 

»o  out, 


igcr  { 


It  will 
doctor, 

y- 

ng  licr 
Snrcly 

worse 
•o-(^ther 
•ativcly 

consti- 

itl  have 

mother 

[ct  had 
away 

[jee  her 
III  must 


liing  to 
You 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


171 


should  let  her  sleep  hi  the  other  room  where  the  lircplacc  is. 
When  the  days  arc  tine,  she  must  be  well  wrapped  up  and 
go  out,  and  I  well  send  her  something.  My  de;ir,  you  havo 
no  oicasion  fur  despondency.  The  chances  are  all  in  her 
favor." 

He  went  toward  the  door,  but  came  back  again,  and  after 
walking  up  and  d(nvn  the  room  for  a  little,  he  came  close  to 
Graeme. 

"  .Vnd  if  it  were  not  so,  my  cliild,  you  are  a  Christian.  If 
the  possibility  you  have  been  contemplating  should  become  a 
reality,  ought  it  to  be  deplored  ?  " 

A  strong  shudder  passed  over  Graeme.  The  doctor 
paused,  not  able  to  withstand  the  pain  in  her  face. 

' '  Nay,  my  child — if  you  could  kvvp  her  here  and  assure  to 
her  all  that  the  world  can  give,  what  would  that  be  in  com- 
parison with  the  '  rest  that  remameth  ? '  For  her  it  would  be 
far  better  to  go,  and  for  you — when  your  time  comes  to  lie 
down  and  die — would  it  sooth  you  then  to  know  that  she 
nnist  be  left  b(;hind,  to  travel,  perhaps,  with  gamients  not 
unspotted,  all  the  toilsome  way  alone  ?  " 

Graeme's  face  drooped  till  it  was  quite  hidden,  and  her 
tears  fell  fast.     Her  friend  did  not  seek  to  c-hedc  them. 

"I  know  the  first  thought  is  terrible.  But,  child!  the 
grave  is  a  safe  place  in  which  to  kcej)  our  treasures.  Mine 
are  nearly  all  there.  I  would  not  havo  it  othei-wise — and 
they  are  safe  from  the  chances  of  a  changeful  world.  You 
will  be  glad  for  yourself  by  and  b}'.  You  should  be  glad  for 
yoiu*  sister  now." 

"If  I  were  sure — if  I  were  quite  sure,"  murmured  Graeme 
through  her  weei)ing. 

"Sure  tliat  she  is  going  home?"  said  the  doctor,  stoojiLng 
low  to  whisper  the  words.  "  I  think  j-ou  may  be  sure — as 
sure  as  one  can  be  in  such  a  case.  It  is  a  great  mystery. 
Your  father  will  know  best,     (iod  is  good.     Pray  for  her." 

"My  father!  He  does  not  cv(^n  thmk  of  danger." 
Graeme  clasped  her  hands  with  a  quick  despau'ing  motion. 

"Miss  Graeme,"  said  the  doctor,  hastily,  "you  nnist  nut 


172 


Janet's  love  anh  bi;kvice. 


spciik  to  your  father  yet.  ^Marian's  case  is  l)y  no  means 
hopeless,  and  youi*  father  must  bo  spared  all  anxiety  at  pro- 
sent.     A  sudden  shock  might  —  "  ho  paused. 

"  Is  not  my  father  well  ?  Has  ho  not  quite  recovered  ?  " 
asked  (jlraeme." 

"  (^uito  well,  my  dear,  don't  bo  fancifid.  But  it  will  do 
no  good  to  disturb  him  now.  I  will  speak  to  him,  or  give 
you  leave  to  speak  to  him,  if  it  should  Ijecomc  necessary.  In 
the  meantime  you  must  bo  cheerfiU.  You  have  no  cause  to 
be  otherwise." 

It  was  easy  to  say  "bo  cheerful."  But  Graeme  hardly 
hoped  for  her  sister,  after  that  day.  Often  and  often  she 
repeated  to  herself  the  doctor's  words,  that  there  was  no  im- 
mediate danger,  but  she  could  take  no  comfort  fi'om  them. 
The  great  dread  was  always  upon  her.  She  never  sj^oke  of 
her  fears  agaui,  and  shi'ank  from  any  allusion  to  her  sister's 
state,  till  her  friends — and  even  the  faithful  Janet,  who  knew 
her  so  well — doubted  whether  she  realized  the  danger,  which 
was  becoming  every  day  more  apparent  to  them  all.  But 
she  knew  it  well,  and  strove  with  all  h^r  power  to  look 
calmly  forward  to  the  time  when  the  worst  must  come  ;  and 
almost  always,  in  her  sister's  presence,  she  strove  success- 
fully. But  these  quiet,  cheerful  hours  in  Marian's  room, 
were  purchased  by  hours  of  prayerful  agony,  known  only  to 
Him  who  is  full  of  compassion,  even  when  His  chastisements 
are  most  severe. 


I 


means 
at  i)ro- 

crcd  ?  " 


will  do 
or  give 
iry.  In 
ausc  to 

!  hardly 
ftcn  she 
3  no  im- 
n  them, 
poke  of 
r  sister's 
ho  knew 
3r,  which 
ill.    But 
to  look 
oae  ;  and 
success- 
's room, 
1  only  to 
isements 


i 

I 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

NO.  None  knew  so  well  as  Graeme  that  her  sister  was 
passmg  away  from  among  them  ;  but  even  she  did  not 
dream  how  near  the  time  was  come.  Even  when  the  nightly 
journey  up  stairs  was  more  than  Marian  coidd  accomplish, 
and  the  pretty  parlor,  despoiled  of  its  ornaments,  became  her 
sick-room,  Graeme  prayed  daily  for  strength  to  carry  her 
through  the  long  months  of  watching,  that  she  believed  were 
before  her.  As  far  as  possible,  everything  went  on  as  usual 
in  the  house.  The  childi-en's  lessons  were  learned,  and  re- 
cited as  usual,  generally  by  Marian's  side  for  a  tune,  but 
afterwards  they  went  elsewhere,  for  a  very  little  thing  tired 
her  now.  Still,  she  hardly  called  herself  ill.  She  suflfered  no 
pain,  and  it  was  only  after  some  unusual  exertion  that  she,  or 
others,  realized  how  very  weak  she  was  becoming  day  bj'  day. 
Her  workbasket  stood  by  her  side  still,  for  though  she  seldom 
touched  it  now,  Graeme  could  not  bear  to  put  it  away.  Their 
daily  readings  were  becoming  brief  and  infi*equent.  One  by 
one  their  favorite  books  found  their  accustomed  places  on  the 
shelves,  and  remained  imdisturbed.  Within  reach  of  her 
hand  lay  always  Menie's  httle  Bible,  and  now  and  then  she 
read  a  verse  or  two,  but  more  frequently  it  was  Graeme's 
trembling  lips,  that  murmured  the  sweet  famihar  words. 
Almost  to  the  very  last  she  came  out  to  family  worship  with 
the  rest,  and  when  she  could  not,  they  went  in  to  her.  ^Vnd 
the  voice,  that  had  been  the  sweetest  of  them  all,  joined  softly 
and  sweetly  still  in  theii*  song  of  praise. 

Very  quietly  passed  these  last  days  and  nights.  Many 
kind  inquiries  were  made,  and  many  kind  offices  performed 
for  them,  but  for  the  most  part  the  sisters  were  left  to  each 

(173) 


174 


JANICT  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


u 


other.  Even  the  children  were  beguiled  into  frequent  visits 
to  ^Irs.  Snow  and  others,  and  many  a  tranquil  horn*  did  the 
Biwte^s  pass  together.  Tranquil  only  in  outwai'd  seeming 
many  of  these  hoiu's  were  to  Graeme,  for  never  a  moment 
was  the  thought  of  the  parting,  that  every  day  brought  nearer, 
absent  from  her,  and  often  when  there  were  smiles  and  fheoi*- 
ful  words  upon  her  lips,  her  heart  was  hke  to  break  for  tlio 
desolation  that  was  before  them. 

*'  Graeme,"  said  IMarian,  one  night,  as  the  elder  sister 
moved  restlessly  about  the  room,  "you  are  tii-ed  tonight. 
Come  and  lie  down  beside  me  and  rest,  before  "Will,  and  Itosio 
come  home." 

Weary  Graeme  was,  and  utterly  despondent,  with  now  and 
then  such  bitter  throbs  of  pain  at  her  heart,  that  she  felt  she 
must  get  away  to  weep  out  her  tears  alone.  But  she  must 
have  patience  a  little  longer,  and  so,  lying  down  on  the  bed, 
she  suffered  the  wasted  arms  to  clasp  themselves  about  her 
neck,  and  for  a  time  the  sisters  lay  cheek  to  cheek  in  silence. 

"  Graeme,"  said  Marian,  at  last,  "  do  you  think  papa  kous  ?  " 

"What,  love?" 

"  That  I  am  going  soon.     You  know  it,  Graeme  ?  " 

Graeme's  heart  stiiTcd  with  a  sudden  throb  of  pain.  There 
was  n  rushing  in  her  ears,  and  a  dimness  before  her  eyes,  as 
though  the  di*eaded  enemy  had  ah'cady  come,  but  she  foimd 
voice  to  say,  softly, 

"  You  're  no'  feared,  Menio  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she,  quickly,  then  raising  herself  up,  and  lean- 
ing close  over,  so  as  to  see  her  sister's  face,  she  added,  "  Do 
you  think  I  need  to  fear,  (iraeme '?  " 

K  she  had  had  a  thousand  worlds  to  give,  she  W(iuld  have 
giv(ui  all  to  know  that  her  little  sister,  standing  on  the  brink 
of  the  river  of  death,  need  not  fear  to  enter  it 

"  None  need  fear  who  tnist  in  Jesus,"  said  she,  softly. 

"  No  And  I  do  trust  Him.  Who  else  could  I  trust,  now 
that  I  am  going  lo  die?     I  know  Ho  is  able  to  save." 

"  AU  who  come  to  him,"  whispered  Graeme.  "My  darling, 
have  you  come  V " 


JANKTh    l.oVL    AND    SKKVICK 


10 


"  I  think  ho  has  di-awu  me  to  Himself.  I  think  I  am  His 
very  own.  Graeme,  I  know  I  am  not  wise  hko  j'ou — and  I 
have  not  all  my  hfe  been  good,  but  thoughtless  and  willful 
often — but  I  know  that  I  love  Jesus,  and  I  think  He  loves  mo, 
too." 

She  lay  quietly  down  again. 

"  (Iraenie,  are  vou  afi'aid  for  me? " 

"  I  eanna  be  afraid  for  one  who  tnists  in  Jesus." 

It  was  all  she  could  do  to  say  it,  for  the  cry  that  was  rising 
to  her  lips  fiom  her  hcai't,  in  which  soitow  was  stmgghng 
with  joy. 

"  Inhere  is  only  one  thing  thr.f:  sometimes  makes  me  doubt," 
said  Marian,  again.  "  My  liio  has  been  such  a  happy  hfe. 
I  have  had  no  tribulation  that  the  Bible  speaks  of — no  buffet- 
tuig — no  tossing  to  and  fro.  I  have  been  happy  all  my  life, 
and  happy  to  the  end.  It  seems  hai'dly  fair,  Graeme,  when 
there  are  so  many  that  have  so  much  siiffering." 

"Cod  has  been  very  good  to  yon,  dear," 

"  And  you  '11  lot  me  go  willingly,  Graeme  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  iMenio,  niiLst  you  go.  Could  j'ou  no'  bide  with  us  a 
little  while  ?  "  (said  Graeme,  her  tears  coming  fast  A  look 
of  pain  came  to  her  sister's  face. 

"  Graeme,"  said  she,  softly  ;  "  at  first  ±  thought  I  couldna 
bear  to  go  and  leave  you  all.  But  it  seems  easy  now.  And 
you  wouldna  bring  back  the  pain,  dear?  " 

"  No,  no  !  my  darling." 

"At  Hist  you'll  all  be  sorrj-,  but  God  will  comfort  you. 
And  niv  i!vi'<er  winna  have  long  to  wait,  and  you'll  have 
liosie  aji(i  'SViil. and,  Graeme,  you  wiU  tell  papa  ?  " 

"  Y<y    I  wiU  tell  him." 

"  Ho  '11  grieve  at  first — and  I  coiUd  not  l)ear  to  see  hhu 
gi'ieve.     (Vfter  lie  has  time  to  think  about  it,  he  wiU.  be  glad." 

•'  And  Arthur,  and  all  the  rest "  murnim-od  Graeme. 

A  momentary  shadow  passed  over  Idarian's  face. 

"  Oh  !  Graeme,  at  fir'  i  thought  it  ->fould  bioak  my  heart 
to  leave  you  all — but  I  am  willing  now.  God,  I  trust, 
Las  made    me    wilhng.     And  after  a  little    they  will    be 


1,**"^ 


■  f 


!'■ 


ITO 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


hajipy  aj^ain.  But  thoy  will  novcr  forget  me,  will  they, 
Graeme?'' 

'*  My  darling !  never !  " 

"►■^o.iictinu^s  I  wish  I  had  knoANTi — I  wish  I  had  been  quite 
sur(>,  wlien  tlicy  were  al!  at  lionie.  I  v.ould  Hko  to  have  said 
something.  But  it  doesna  really  matter.  They  will  never 
ibrgrt  me ." 

"  We  will  send  for  them,"  said  Graeme,  tlirough  her  tears. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  tlmik  not.  It  would  giieve  them,  and 
1  can  Ijear  so  little  now.  And  we  were  so  hapi)y  the  last 
time.     I  think  they  had  best  not  copie,  (iraeme." 

But  the  words  were  slow  to  eonie,  and  her  ej'cs  turned,  oh ! 
so  wistfully,  to  her  sister's  face,  who  had  no  words  with  which 
to  answer. 

"  Sometimes  I  tL'oam  of  them,  and  when  I  waken,  I  do  so 
long  to  see  tliem,"  and  the  tears  gatiiered  sh^wly  in  her  eyes. 
"  But  it  is  as  well  as  it  is,  pcrhaiiH.  I  would  rather  they  would 
tlmik  of  me  as  I  used  to  be,  than  to  sec  me  now.  No, 
Graeme,  I  think  I  will  wait." 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  she  kissed  her  sister  softly 
many  times. 

"It  won't  be  long.  And,  (Jraeme — I  shall  sec  oiu*  mother 
first — and  you  must  have  patience,  and  wait.  AVe  shall  all 
get  safe  homo  at  last — I  am  quite,  quite  sure  of  that." 

A  step  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Snow  entered. 

"  Weel,  bairns  I  "  v  as  all  she  said,  as  she  sat  down  beside 
them.  She  saw  that  tliey  were  both  much  moved,  and  slio 
laid  her  kind  hand  caressingly  on  tlu^  hair  of  the  eldest  sister, 
as  though  she  knew  she  was  the  one  who  needed  comforting. 

"Have  the  bamis  come?"  asked  wienie. 

"  No,  dear,  I  bade  them  bide  till  I  went  down  the  brae 
again.     Do  you  want  them  home?" 

"  Oh  no  !  I  (mly  wondcu'od  whv  I  didna  hear  them." 

The  wind  howled  th'carily  about  the  house,  and  they 
listened  to  it  for  a  time  in  silence. 

"It 's  no'  like  spring  to-night,  Janet,"  said  Menie. 

"No,  dear,  it 's  as  wintry  a  night  as  wo  have  had  this  while. 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


177 


1  they, 


n  quite 
vo  said 
1  never 

r  tears, 
an,  and 
,lie  lust 

led,  «)b! 
h  which 

I  do  so 

lor  eyes. 
y  would 
ft'.     No, 

softly 

mother 
nail  all 

red. 

beside 
and  she 
it  sister, 
iforting. 

le  brao 


id  thoy 


is  while. 


ft 


But  the  wind  is  chan«^i<:(  to  the  south  now,  and  we  'U  soon 
see  the  bare  hills  a<^ain." 

"Yes  ;  I  hojw  so,"  said  Menic,  softly. 

"  Are  you  wcaryinj]^  for  the  spring,  dear  V  " 

'•Whiles  I  weary."  But  the  longing  in  those  "bonny 
e'en  "  was  for  no  earthly  s[)ring,  Janet  weU  knew. 

"  I  ayo  mind  the  time  when  I  gathered  the  snowdrops  and 
daisies,  and  the  one  rose,  on  my  mother's  birthday.  It  was 
long  before  this  time  of  the  year — and  it  seems  long  to  wait 
for  spring." 

"Ay,  I  mind  ;  but  that  was  in  Ihe  sheltered  garden  at  tho 
Ebba.  There  were  no  llowers  blooming  cm  Hio  bare  hills  u: 
Scotland  then  more  than  hero.  You  mnstna  begin  to  weaiy 
for  the  spring  yet.  You  '11  get  down  tho  brae  soon,  maybe, 
and  then  you  wmna  weary." 

Menio  made  no  answer,  but  a  spasm  passed  over  the  face 
of  Graeme.  The  same  thought  was  on  the  mind  of  all  tho 
three.  When  Menie  went  down  the  brae  again,  it  nnist  bo 
with  eyelids  closed,  and  with  hands  folded  on  a  heart  at  rest 
forever. 

"  Janet,  when  will  Sandy  come  ?  Have  you  got  a  letter 
yet?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  got  a  letter  to-day.     It  winna  be  long  now." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  not.  I  want  to  see  him  nnd  your  mother. 
I  want  them  to  see  me,  too.  Sandy  would  hardly  mind  me, 
if  he  didna  come  till  afterwards." 

"  IMi.ss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  said  ]Mrs.  Snow,  hoai*sely,  "go 
ben  and  sit  with  your  fatlua*  a  while.  It  will  rest  you,  and 
I  '11  bide  with  Menie  here." 

CJraemo  rose,  and  kissing  her  sister,  softly  went  away. 
Not  into  the  study,  however,  but  out  into  the  darkness,  where 
the  March  wind  moaned  so  drearily  among  the  leatless  elms, 
that  she  might  weep  out  the  tears  which  sIk;  had  Ixvn  stnig- 
gling  with  so  long.  Up  and  down  the  snow-enciimbered  path 
she  walked,  s<'arco  knowing  that  she  shiv(>red  in  tlu;  blast. 
Conscious  only  of  one  thought,  that  Menio  must  die,  and 
that  tho  time  was  hastening. 
8* 


178 


jaket's  love  and  service. 


Yes.  It  was  comijig  veiy  near  n(nv.  God  help  them  all. 
Weary  with  the  unavaihng  struggle,  weaiy  to  faintness  with 
the  burden  of  care  and  sorrow,  she  had  borne  through  all 
th(;so  months  of  watching,  to-night  she  let  it  fall.  She 
bowed  herself  uttoily  down. 

"  Ho  lot  it  be !     God's  will  bo  done  !" 

And  leaning  with  bowed  head  and  clasped  hands  over  the 
little  gate,  where  she  had  stood  in  many  a  changing  mood, 
she  prayed  as  twice  or  tliiice  in  a  life  time.  God  gives  power 
to  his  childi'on  to  pray — face  to  face — in  His  very  presence. 
Giving  her  will  and  wish  up  quite,  she  lay  at  his  feet  like  a 
httle  child,  chastened,  yet  consoled,  saying  not  with  her  lips, 
but  with  the  sor  I's  deepest  breathing,  "  I  am  Thme.  Save 
nie."  Between  Ler  and  all  earthly  things,  except  the  knowl- 
edge that  her  sisler  was  v^vii^g,  n  kindly  veil  was  interjiosed. 
No  foreshadowing  of  a  future  more  utterly  bereaved  than 
Menie's  death  would  bring,  darkened  the  light  which  this 
momentaiy  ghmpse  of  her  Lord  revealed.  In  that  hour  she 
ate  angel's  food,  and  from  it  received  strength  to  walk  through 
desert  places. 

She  started  as  a  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  but  her 
bead  drooped  again  as  she  met  jMr.  Snow's  look,  so  grave  in 
its  kindliness. 

"  Miss  Graeme,  is  it  best  you  should  be  out  here  in  the 
cold  V" 

"  No,"  said  Graeme,  humbly.  "  I  am  going  in."  But  she 
did  not  move  even  to  withdraw  herself  from  the  gentle  pres- 
sure of  his  hand. 

"IVIiss  C»raeme,"  said  he,  as  they  stood  thus  with  the  gate 
between  them,  "  had  n't  you  better  give  up  now,  and  lot  the 
Lord  do  as  He  's  a  mind  to  about  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Graeme,  "I  give  up.     His  will  be  done." 

"Amen!"  said  her  fiuend,  and  the  hand  that  rested  on  her 
shoulder  was  placed  upon  her  head,  and  Graeme  knew  that 
in  "  the  golden  vials  full  of  odors"  before  the  throne,  Deacon 
Snow's  prayer  for  her  found  a  place. 

She  opened  the  gate  and  held  it  till  he  passed  through, 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


179 


I 


and  tlicu  followed  him  up  tbo  path  into  Hannah's  bright 
kitchen. 

"  Will  you  go  in  and  see  papa,  or  in  there  ?"  aslccd  she, 
glancing  towards  the  parlor  door,  and  shading  her  eves  as 
she  spoke. 

"  "NVell,  I  gucsr,  I  '11  sit  down  here.  It  won't  be  long  before 
Mis'  Snow  '11  be  going  along  down.  But  don't  you  wait.  (Jo 
ri^ht  in  to  your  father." 

Graeme  opened  the  study  door  and  went  in. 

"  I  will  teU  him  to-night,"  said  she.     "  God  help  us." 

Her  father  was  sitting  in  the  fireUght,  holding  an  open  let- 
ter in  his  hantl. 

"Graeme,"  said  he,  as  she  sat  down,  "have  you  seen 
Janet  ?"  ^ 

"  YcR,  papa.     I  left  her  with  Marian,  a  httle  ago." 

"  Poor  Janet !"  said  her  father,  sighing  heavily.  No  one 
was  so  particular  as  the  minister  in  gi^^ng  Janet  her  new 
title.  It  was  always  "  Mistress  Snow"  or  "  the  deacon's  wife" 
with  him,  and  Graeme  wondered  to-night. 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?"  asked  she. 

"  Have  yon  not  heard  ?  She  has  had  a  letter  from  home. 
Hero  it  is.     Hvr  mother  is  dead" 

The  hitter  dropped  from  Graeme's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Yes,"  continued  her  ftither.  "  It  was  rather  sudden,  it 
seems — soon  after  she  had  decided  to  come  out  here.  It  will 
1)0  doubly  hard  for  her  daughter  to  bear  on  that  account.  I 
must  speak  to  her,  poor  Janet !" 

Graeme  was  left  alone  to  muse  on  the  imcertainty  of  all 
tlnngs,  and  to  tell  herself  over  and  over  agam,  how  vain  it 
was  to  set  the  heart  on  any  earthly  good.  "Poor  Janet!" 
well  might  her  father  say  ;  and  amid  her  own  sorrow  Graeme 
grieved  sincerely  for  the  sorrow  of  li(>r  friend.  It  was  very 
hard  to  bear,  now  that  she  had  been  looking  foi'ward  to  a 
happy  meeting,  and  a  few  ((Ui.  t  vivirs  together  after  their 
long  se])arati()U.  It  did  seem  very  Imid,  and  it  was  with  a 
full  heart  that  in  an  hour  afterwjuxl,  when  her  father  returned, 
she  sought  her  fiiend. 


180 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SKRVICK. 


i 


Mr.  Snow  had  gone  home  and  his  wife  was  to  stay  all  night, 
Graeme  found  when  she  entered  her  sister's  room.  Marian 
was  asleep,  and  coming  close  to  INIrs.  Snow,  who  sat  gazing 
into  the  fire,  Graeme  knelt  down  beside  her  and  put  her  arms 
about  her  neck  vrithout  a  word.  At  first  Graeme  thought 
she  was  weeping.  She  was  not ;  but  in  a  Uttlo  she  said,  in 
a  voice  that  showed  how  much  her  apparent  calmness  cost 
her,  "  You  see,  my  dear,  the  upshot  of  all  oui*  fine  plans." 

"  Oh,  Janet !  There 's  nothing  in  all  the  world  that  we  can 
trust  in." 

"Ay,  you  may  weel  say  that  But  it  is  a  lesson  that  we 
ai-e  slow  to  learn  ;  and  the  Lord  winna  let  us  forget." 

There  was  a  pause. 
i^'  Wlien  was  it  ?"  asked  Graeme,  softly. 

"  Six  weeks  ago  this  very  night,  I  have  been  thinking,  since 
I  sat  here.  Her  trouble  was  short  and  sharp,  and  she  was 
glad  to  go." 

"  And  would  she  have  come  ?" 

*'  Ay,  lass,  but  it  wasna  to  be,  as  I  might  have  kenned  from 
the  beginning.  I  thought  I  asked  God's  guiding,  and  I  was 
persuaded  into  thinking  I  had  gotten  it  But  you  see  my 
heart  was  set  on  it  from  the  very  first — guiding  or  no  guid- 
ing— and  now  the  Lord  has  seen  fit  to  punish  mo  for  my 
self-seeking." 

"  Oh,  Janet !"  said  Graeme,  remonstratingly. 

"  My  dear,  it 's  true,  though  it  sets  me  ill  to  vex  you  with 
saying  it  now.  I  have  more  need  to  take  the  lesson  to  heart. 
May  the  Lord  give  me  gi*ace  to  do  it." 

( Jraeme  could  say  nothing,  and  Janet  continued — 

'•  It 's  ill  done  iji  me  to  grieve  for  her.  She  is  far  better 
off  than  ever  I  could  have  made  her  with  the  best  of  wills, 
and  as  for  me — I  must  submit" 

"You  have  Sandy  still." 

"  Aye,  thank  God.     May  He  have  him  in  His  keeping." 

"  And  he  will  come  yet" 

♦'  Yes,  I  have  Uttle  doubt    But  I  'U  no'  set  mysslf  to  the 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


181 


! 


hewing  out  of  broken  cisterns  this  wliilo  again.  Tlio  Lord 
kens  best." 

Mtev  that  night  ^Irs.  Snow  never  left  the  house  for  many 
hours  at  a  time  till  Menie  went  away.  GIraeme  never  told 
her  father  of  the  soitow  that  was  drawing  near.  As  the  days 
went  on,  she  saw  by  many  a  token,  that  he  kiiew  of  the  com- 
ing parting,  but  it  tlid  not  seem  to  look  sorrowful  to  him. 
Ho  was  mu(*h  with  her  now,  but  all  could  see  that  the  hours 
by  her  bed-side  were  not  sorrowful  ones  to  him  or  to  her. 
But  to  Graeme  he  did  not  speak  of  her  sister's  state  till  near 
the  very  last. 

They  were  sitting  together  in  the  firelight  of  the  study,  as 
they  seldom  sat  now.  They  had  been  sitting  thus  a  long 
time — so  long  that  Graeme,  f(jrgettiiig  to  wear  a  cheerful 
look  in  her  father's  presence,  had  let  her  weary  eyes  close, 
and  her  hands  drop  listlessly  on  her  lap.  She  looked  ut- 
terly weary  and  despondent,  as  she  sat  there,  quite  imcon- 
Gcious  that  her  father's  eyes  were  upon  her. 

"  You  are  tu'ed  to-night,  Graeme,"  said  he,  at  last.  Graemo 
started,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  bring  her  usual  look  back,  so 
she  buiiied  herself  with  something  at  the  table  and  did  not 
speak.     Her  father  sighed. 

"  It  will  not  bo  long  now." 

Graemo  sat  motionless,  but  she  had  no  voice  ,vith  which  to 
speak. 

"  We  little  thought  it  was  our  bonny  ISIenio  who  was  to 
sec  her  mother  first.  Think  of  the  joy  of  that  meeting, 
Graeme !" 

Graeme's  head  ch'ooped  down  on  the  table.  If  she  had 
spoken  a  word,  it  must  have  been  with  a  gi'cat  burst  of  weej>- 
ing.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot  in  her  eflfort  to  keep 
herself  quiet.     Her  father  watclKul  her  for  a  moment. 

"  Graeme,  you  are  not  grudging  your  sister  to  such  bless- 
edness ?" 

"  Not  now,  papa,"  whispered  she,  heavily.  "  I  am  almost 
wilUng  now." 


"f 


182 


JANKl'ri    J-OVi:    A2JD   SERVICE. 


I 


"  What  is  tlio  happiest  life  here — and  Menie's  has  been 
hapi^y — to  the  blessedness  of  the  re.st  ^Yhich  I  confidently  be- 
lieve awaits  her,  dear  child  ?" 

"  It  is  not  that  I  gnidge  to  let  her  go,  but  that  I  fear  to  be 
left  l;eliind." 

"  Ay,  love !  But  wo  must  bide  God's  time.  And  you 
will  have  your  brothers  and  Rose,  and  you  are  young,  and 
time  heals  sore  wounds  in  young  hearts." 

Graeme's  head  drooped  lower.  She  was  weeping  unre- 
strainedly but  quietly  now.     Her  father  went  on — 

"  And  afterwards  you  will  have  many  tilings  to  comfort 
you.  I  used  to  think  in  the  time  of  my  sorrow,  that  its  sud- 
denness added  to  its  bitterness.  If  it  had  ever  come  into 
my  mind  that  your  mother  might  leave  me,  I  might  have 
borne  it  better,  I  thought.  But  God  knows.  There  are 
some  things  for  which  we  cannot  i^repare." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Graeme,  I  have  something  which  I  must  say  to  you,"  said 
her  father,  and  his  voice  showed  that  he  was  sj)eaking  with 
an  effoi"t.  *'  If  the  time  comes — when  the  time  comes — my 
child,  I  gi'ieve  to  give  you  pain,  but  what  I  have  to  say  had 
best  be  said  now  ;  it  will  bring  the  time  no  nearer.  My 
child,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  of  the  time  when  we 
shall  no  longer  be  togotlier — ."     Graeme  did  not  move. 

"  jMv  child,  the  backward  look  over  one's  life,  is  so  differ- 
ent  from  the  doubtful  glances  one  sends  into  the  future.  I 
stand  now,  and  see  all  the  way  by  which  (jrod  has  led  mo, 
with  a  p;Tieved  wonder,  that  I  should  ever  have  doubted  his 
l(ivc  and  care,  and  how  it  was  all  to  end.  The  dark  places, 
and  the  rough  places  that  once  made  my  heart  faint  with 
fear,  are,  to  look  back  U})()i:',  radiant  with  hght  and  beauty — 
INtounts  of  God,  with  the  bright  cloud  overshado^ving  them. 
And  yet,  I  mind  gi'opmg  about  b(.'fore  them,  like  a  blind 
man,  with  a  fear  and  di'cad  unK]ieakable. 

"  My  child,  are  you  hearing  me  ?  Oh !  if  my  experience 
could  teach  you  !  I  know  it  cannot  be.  The  blessed  lesson 
that  suffering  teaches,  each  must  bear  for  himself ;  and  I 


JAXm-'s   LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


183 


i£fer- 

!.       I 

lUO, 
luB 


mcQ 
sson 

a  I 


need  not  tell  you  that  there  never  yet  was  sorrow  sent  to  a 
child  of  God,  for  which  there  is  no  balm.  You  are  youn«]f ; 
and  vffary  and  spent  as  you  are  to-night,  no  wonder  that  you 
think  at  the  sig;ht,  of  the  deep  wastes  you  may  have  to  pass, 
and  the  dreary  waters  you  may  have  to  cross.  But  there  is 
no  fear  that  you  will  be  alone,  dear,  or  that  He  will  give  yon 
anythuig  to  do,  or  bear,  and  yet  withhold  the  needed  strength. 
Are  you  hearing  me,  my  child  ?" 

Graeme  gave  a  mute  sign  of  assent. 

"  Menie,  dear  child,  has  had  a  life  bright  and  brief.  Yours 
may  be  long  and  toilsome,  but  if  the  end  be  the  same,  what 
matter !  you  may  desire  to  change  with  her  to-night,  but  we 
caimot  change  our  lot.  God  make  us  patient  in  it, — patient 
and  heljiful.  Shoi*t  as  your  sister's  life  has  been,  it  has  not 
been  in  vain.  She  has  been  like  hght  among  us,  and  her 
memory  will  always  be  a  blessedness — and  to  you  Graeme, 
most  of  all." 

Graeme's  lips  opened  with  a  ciy.  Turning,  she  laid  her 
face  down  on  her  father's  knee,  and  her  tears  fell  fast.  Her 
father  raised  her,  and  clasping  her  closely,  let  her  weep  for 
a  little. 

"Hush  love,  calm  yourself,"  said  he,  at  last.  "Nay,"  ho 
added,  as  she  would  have  risen,  "  rest  here,  my  poor  tii'ed 
Graeme,  my  child,  my  best  comforter  always." 

Graeme's  frame  shook  with  sobs. 

"  Don't  papa — I  cannot  bear  it " 

She  struggled  with  herself,  and  gi'ew  calm  agam. 

"  Forgive  me,  papa.  I  know  I  ought  not.  And  indeed, 
it  is  not  because  I  am  altogether  uuhapjiy,  or  because  I  am 
not  willing  to  let  her  go " 


"  Hush,  love,  I  know.  You  are  your  mother's  own  patient 
child.  I  trust  you  quite,  Graeme,  and  that  is  why  I  have 
corn-age  to  give  you  pain.  For  I  must  say  more  to-night. 
If  anything  should  happen  to  mo — hush,  love.  My  saying 
it  does  not  hasten  it.  But  when  I  am  gone,  you  will  care  for 
the  others.  I  do  not  fear  for  you.  You  will  always  have 
kind  friends  in  Janet  and  her  husband,  and  will  never  want 


I 


184 


.TANKTfl    I.OVK   AND   8EUVICE. 


a  homo  while  thoy  can  f^ve  you  ono,  I  am  sure.  But  Graeme, 
I  would  like  you  all  to  keep  toj^'cthcr.  Bo  ono  family,  an 
long  as  possible.  So  if  Arthur  wishes  you  to  f^o  to  him,  go 
all  together.  He  may  have  to  work  hard  for  a  time,  but  you 
will  take  a  blessmg  with  you.  Aud  it  will  be  best  for  all, 
that  you  should  keep  together. " 

The  shock  wliich  her  father's  words  gave,  calmed  Graeme 
in  a  moment. 

*'But,  pai)a,  you  are  not  ill,  not  more  than  you  have 
been  ?" 

"  No,  love,  I  am  better,  much  better.  Still,  I  wished  to 
say  this  to  you,  because,  it  is  always  well  to  be  prepared. 
That  is  all  I  had  to  say,  love." 

But  he  clasped  her  to  him  for  a  moment  still,  and  before 
ho  let  her  go,  ho  whispered,  softly, 

"  I  trust  you  quite,  love,  and  you  11  bring  them  all  homo 
safe  to  yom*  mother  aud  mo." 

It  was  not  very  long  after  this,  a  few  tranquil  days  and 
nights  only,  and  the  end  camo.  Thoy  were  altogether  in 
Marian's  room,  sitting  quietly  after  worship  was  over.  It 
was  the  usual  time  for  separating  for  the  night,  but  they  still 
lingered.  Not  that  any  of  them  thought  it  woidd  bo  to-night. 
Mrs.  Snow  might  have  thought  so,  for  never  during  the  long 
evening,  had  she  stiiTcd  from  the  side  of  the  bed,  but  watch- 
ed with  earnest  eyes,  the  ever  changing  face  of  the  dying 
gu'l.  She  had  been  slumbering  quietly  for  a  Uttle  while,  but 
suddenly,  as  IMrs.  Snow  bent  over  her  more  closely,  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  seeing  something  in  her  face,  she  said, 
with  an  echo  of  surprise  in  her  voice, 

"  Janet,  is  it  to  bo  tonight  ?  Aro  thoy  all  here.  Papa, 
Graeme.     Where  is  Graeme  ?" 

They  were  with  her  in  a  moment,  and  Graeme's  cheek  was 
laid  on  her  sister's  wasted  hand. 

"  Well,  my  lammie !"  said  her  father,  softly. 

"  Papa !  it  is  not  too  good  to  bo  true,  is  it  ?" 

Her  father  bent  down  till  his  hps  touched  her  choek. 

"  You  are  not  afraid,  my  child  ?" 


#,. 


Janet's  love  and  seuvick. 


isn 


i 


Afraid !  no,  it  was  not  fcai*  ho  saw  in  those  sweet  trimn- 
pliant  eyes.  Her  look  never  wuncler<;(l  fiom  his  I'loe,  but  it 
changed  soon,  and  ho  knew  that  the  King's  messenger  was 
come.  Munuuring  an  inaiiicuhite  jn'ayer,  he  bowed  his  head 
in  the  awful  presence,  and  when  he  looked  again,  he  saw 
no  more  those  bonny  eyes,  but  .lanet's  toilworn  hand  laid 
over  them. 

Graeme's  cheek  still  lay  on  her  sister's  stiffening  hand, 
and  when  they  all  rose  up,  and  her  father,  i)assing  round  tho 
couch  put  his  arm  about  her,  she  did  not  move. 

"  There  is  no  need  Let  her  rest !  it  is  all  over  now,  tho 
long  watching  and  waitmg!  let  tho  tired  eyelids  close,  and 
thank  God  for  tho  momentaiy  forgetfulness  which  Ho  has 
given  her." 


^S 


Papa, 
}okwas 


■,'iu 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


1.0 


I.I 


If  IM  IM 

■>  !■■    IIII22 


I 


40 


12.0 


1.8 


'•25 1'-^ -^ 

-^ 

6"     

► 

Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER, MY.  M580 

(716)  873-4503 


4j 


%^\ 


;y 


y^ 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


THAT  night,  Graeme  slept  the  dreamless  sleep  of  utter 
exhaustion,  and  the  next  day,  whenever  her  father  or 
Mrs.  Snow  stole  in  to  look  at  her,  she  slept  or  seemed  to 
sleep  still. 

"  She  is  wearj%"  they  said,  in  whispers.  "  Let  her  resi" 
Kind  neighbors  came  and  went,  with  offers  of  help  and  sym- 
pathj',  but  nothing  was  suffered  to  disturb  the  silence  of  the 
now  darkened  chamber.     "  Let  her  rest,"  said  all. 

But  when  the  next  night  passed,  and  the  second  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  Mrs.  Snow  became  anxious,  and  her  visits 
were  more  frequent.  Graeme  roused  herself  to  drink  the 
tea  that  she  brought  her,  and  to  Mrs.  Snow's  question  whe- 
ther she  felt  rested,  she  said,  "  Oh !  yes,"  but  she  closed  her 
eyes,  and  turned  her  face  away  again.  Janet  went  out  and 
seated  herself  in  the  kitchen,  with  a  picture  of  utter  despond- 
fci.cy.     Just  then,  her  husband  came  in. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  V  asked  he,  anxiously. 

*'  No,"  said  his  wife,  rousing  herself.  "  Only,  I  dinna  ken 
weel  what  to  do." 

"  Is  IVIiss  Graeme  sick  ?  or  is  she  asleep  ?" 

"  I  hope  she  's  no'  sick.  I  ken  she  's  no'  sleeping.  But 
she  ought  to  be  roused,  and  when  I  think  what  she 's  to  be 

roused  to .     But,  if  she  wants  to  see  her  sister,  it  must 

be'bcforc before  she  's  laid  m " 

A  strong  shudder  passed  over  her. 

"  Oh !  man !  it 's  awful,  the  fii'st  sight  of  a  dear  face  in 
the  coflQn " 


t  %^ 


Need  she  see  her  again  ?"  asked  Mr.  Snow. 
(18G) 


Janet's  love  and  aERVicE. 


187 


*'  Oh !  yes,  I  doubt  she  must.  And  the  bairns  too,  and  it 
will  soon  be  here,  now." 

"  Her  father,"  suggested  ]Mr.  Snow. 

"  He  has  seen  her.  He  was  there  for  hours,  both  yester- 
day and  to-day.  But  he  is  asleep  now,  and  he  has  need  of 
rest.     I  camia  disturb  him." 

"  Could  n't  you  kind  of  make  her  think  she  was  needed — 
to  her  father  or  the  little  ones  ?  she  would  rouse  herself  if 
they  needed  her." 

"  That 's  weel  said,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  gratefully.  "  Go  you 
down  the  brae  for  the  bairns,  and  I  '11  go  and  speak  to  her 


again. 


"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  said  she,  softly,  "  could  you 
speak  to  me  a  minute  ?" 

Her  manner  was  quite  calm.  It  was  so  like  the  manner 
in  which  Graeme  had  been  hundi'eds  of  times  siunmoned 
to  discuss  domestic  matters,  that  without  seemmg  to  re- 
alize that  there  was  anything  peculiar  in  the  time  or  circum- 
stances, she  opened  her  eyes  and  said,  quietly. 

"  Well,  what.is  it,  Janet?  " 

"  My  dear,  it  is  the  bairns.  There  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  them,"  added  she  hastily,  as  Graeme  started.  "  They 
have  been  down  the  brae  with  Emily  all  the  day,  but  they 
are  coming  home  now;  and,  my  dear,  they  havena  been  ben 
yonder,  and  I  think  they  should  see  her  before — before  she  's 
moved,  and  I  diima  like  to  disturb  your  father.  My  bairn, 
are  you  able  to  rise  and  take  Will,  and  wee  Rosie  ben 
yonder." 

Graeme  raised  herself  slowly  up. 

"  Janet,  I  have  been  forgetting  the  bairns.' 

Mrs.  Snow  ha<l  much  ado  to  keep  back  her  tears;  but  she 
only  said  cheerfully: 

"My  dear,  you  were  weary,  and  they  have  had  EmU}'." 

She  would  not  be  tender  with  her,  or  even  help  her  nmch 
in  her  preparations ;  though  her  hands  trembled,  and  she 
touched  things  in  a  vague,  uncertain  way,  as  though  she  did 
not  know  what  she  was  doing.     Janet  could  not  tnist  herself 


18S 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   .-ERVICE. 


i 


to  do  what  she  would  like  to  have  done;  she  could  only  watch 
her  without  appcarmg  to  do  so,  bv  no  means  sure  that  she 
had  done  right  in  rousuig  her.     She  was  ready  at  last. 

"  Are  th(!y  come  ?  "  asked  Graeme,  faintly. 

"  No  ;  dear.  There 's  no  haste.  Rest  yourself  a  wee  while. 
My  dear,  are  you  sure  you  are  quite  aljle  for  it  ?"  added  she, 
as  Graeme  rose. 

"  Yes  ;  I  thinlc  so.     But  I  would  like  to  go  alono,  first." 

"  My  poor  lamb !  If  I  were  but  siu-e  that  I  have  been 
right,"  thought  Janet,  as  she  sat  down  to  wait 

An  hour  passed,  and  when  the  d.jor  opened,  and  Graeme 
came  out  again,  the  fears  of  her  faithful  fiiend  were  set  at 
rest. 

"She  liasua'  been  alone  all  this  time,  as  I  might  have 
known,"  said  Janet  to  herself,  ^sith  a  great  nish  of  hidden 
tears.  "  I  'm  faithless,  and  sore  besot  myself  whiles,  but  I 
needna  fear  for  them.     The  worst  is  over  now." 

And  was  the  worst  over  ?  After  that  was  the  covering  of 
the  beloved  forever  from  their  sight,  and  the  return  to  the 
silent  and  empty  home.  There  was  the  gathering  up  of  the 
broken  threads  of  their  changed  hfe;  the  falling  back  on 
their  old  cares  and  pleasures,  all  so  much  the  same,  and  yet 
60  diflferent.  There  was  the  vague  unbeUef  in  the  reaUty  of 
their  sorrow,  the  momentDry  forgetfulness,  and  then  the  pang 
of  sudden  remembrance,— the  nightly  dreams  of  her,  the 
daily  waking  to  find  her  gone. 

By  and  by,  came  letters  from  the  lads  ;  those  of  Norman 
and  Harry  full  of  bitter  regi'ets,  which  to  Graeme  seemed 
almost  like  reproaches,  that  they  had  not  been  sent  for  before 
the  end;  and  the  grief  of  those  at  home  came  back  strong 
and  fi'esh  again. 

The  coming  of  the  "  bonny  spring  days"  for  which  Norman 
had  so  wished,  wakened  "  vain  longings  for  the  dead,"  The 
brooks  rose  high,  and  the  young  leaves  rustled  on  the  elms  ; 
and  all  pleasant  sounds  sj)oke  to  them  with  Menie's  voice. 
The  flowers  which  she  had  planted, — the  ilay-flower  and  the 
violets  by  the  garden  path,  looked  at  them  with  Menie's 


tM„ 


JANETS  LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


189 


mly  watch 
that  she 
ast. 

iveo  while, 
tided  she, 

first." 
ave  been 

Graeme 
2re  set  at 

^ht  have 
f  hidden 
Js,  but  I 

ering  of 
n  to  the 
p  of  the 
back  on 
and  yet 
?ality  of 
lie  pang- 
ler,  the 

Gorman 
seemed 

•  before 
strong 

fonnan 

•  The 
elms ; 
voice. 

nd  the 
lenie's 


I 


eyes.  The  odcn*  of  the  lilacs  by  the  gate,  and  of  the  pine 
trees  on  the  hill  came  with  that  mysterious  power  to  awaken 
old  associati(ms,  bringing  back  to  Graeme  the  naemory  of  the 
time  wlien  they  first  came  to  tlic  hoiise  on  the  hill,  when  they 
were  all  at  home  together,  and  Monie  was  a  happy  child.  All 
these  things  renewed  their  soitow,  but  not  shaqily  or  bitterly. 
It  was  tlic  soiTow  of  chastened  and  resigned  hearts,  coming 
back  with  hopeftil  patience  to  tread  the  old  paths  of  their 
daily  life,  missing  the  lost  one,  and  always  with  a  sense  of 
waituig  for  tlie  time  when  they  shall  meet  again,  but  (piite 
content. 

And  Mrs.  Snow,  watching  both  the  minister  and  Graeme, 
"  couldna  be  thankful  enough"  for  what  she  saw.  But  as  the 
weeks  passed  on  there  mingled  with  her  thankfulness  an 
anxiety  which  she  herself  was  mclincd  to  resent.  "As  though 
the  Lord  wnsna  bringing  them  tlurough  their  troubles  in  a 
way  that  was  just  wonderful,"  she  said  to  herself,  many  a 
time.  At  last,  when  the  days  passed  into  weeks,  bringing  no 
color  to  the  cheeks,  and  no  elasticity  to  the  step  of  Graeme, 
she  could  not  help  letting  lier  uneasiness  be  seen. 

"  It  's  her  black  dress  that  makes  her  look  so  pale,  aiu't 
it?"  said  jMr.  Snow,  but  his  face  was  grave,  too. 

"  I  dare  say  that  makes  a  difference,  and  she  is  tired  to-day, 
too.  She  wearied  herself  taking  the  flowers  and  things  over 
yonder,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  glancing  towards  the  spot  where 
the  white  gravestones  gleamed  out  from  the  pale,  gi-een  foliage 
of  springtime.  "  And  no  wonder.  Even  Emily  was  over 
tired,  and  hasna  looked  like  herself  since.  I  dare  say  I  'm 
troubling  myself  when  there  is  no  need." 

"  The  children,  Will,  and  Rosie,  don't  worry  her  with  their 
lessons,  do  thev?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken.  Sometunes  I  think  they  do.  But  she  would 
weary  far  more  ^^•ithout  them.  We  must  have  patience.  It 
would  never  do  to  vex  the  minister  with  fears  for  her." 

"  No,  it  won't  do  to  alarm  him,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  with  em- 
phasis ;  and  he  looked  very  gi'ave.  In  a  little*  ho  opened  his 
lips  as  if  to  say  more,  but  seemed  to  change  his  mind. 


190 


JANET  8    LOVE    AXD    SE14VICE. 


'  1 

IB 

r-  I 


|l^l 


"It  ain't  worth  while  to  worry  her  w.th  it.  I  don't  more 
than  half  bcheve  it  myseK.  Doctors  don't  know  everything. 
It  seems  as  though  it  couldn't  be  so — and  if  it  is  so,  it  's  best 
to  keep  still  about  it — for  a  spell,  anyhow." 

And  ]\Ir.  Snow  vaguel}'  wished  that  Dr.  Chittendon  had  not 
overtaken  him  that  afternoon,  or  that  they  had  not  talked  so 
long  and  so  gi'avely  beneath  the  great  elms. 

"  And  the  doctor  ain't  given  to  talking  when  ho  had  ought 
to  keep  still.  Can't  nothing  Vo  done  for  him?  I  '11  have  a 
talk  with  the  squire,  anyhow.' 

That  night  IMi*.  and  Mrs.  Snow  were  startled  by  a  message 
from  (jrraeme.  Her  father  had  been  once  or  twice  before 
shaqily  and  suddenly  seized  with  illness.  The  doctor  looked 
very  grave  tliis  time  but  seemg  Graeme's  pale,  anxious  face, 
he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  tell  her  that  this  was 
somotlmig  more  than  the  indigestion  which  it  had  been  called  ■ 
— severe  but  not  dangerous.  The  worst  was  over  for  this 
time,  and  Graeme  would  be  better  able  to  bear  a  shock  by 
and  by. 
The  minister  was  better,  but  his  recovery  was  very  slow — 
so  slow,  that  for  the  first  time  during  a  ministry  of  tlikty 
yearS)  he  was  two  Sabbaths  in  succession  unable  to  appear  in 
his  accustomed  place  in  tiie  pulpit.  It  was  this  which  de- 
pressed him  and  made  him  grow  so  grave  and  silent,  Graeme 
thought,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  study  as  it  began  to  grow 
dark.  She  roused  herself  to  speak  cheerfully,  so  as  to  win 
him  from  the  indulgence  of  his  sad  thoughts. 

"  ShaU  I  read  to  you,  papa  ?  You  have  hardly  Ipoked  at 
the  book  that  Mr.  Snow  brought.  I  am  sm*e  you  will  like  it. 
Shall  I  read  awhile." 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  ;  by  and  by,  when  the  lamp  is  lighted. 
There  is  no  haste.  I  have  been  thinking  as  I  sat  here, 
Graeme — and  I  sho.U  find  no  better  time  than  this  to  speak 
of  it  to  you — that — " 

But  what  he  had  been  thinking  Graeme  was  not  to  hear 
that  night,  for  a  hand  was  laid  on  the  study  door,  and  in  an- 
swer to  Graeme's  invitation,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Snow  came  in, 


i 


i 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    8EKVICE. 


191 


"just  to  SCO  how  tlie  folks  were  getting  along,"  said  Mr.  Snow, 
as  Graeme  stirred  the  fire  into  a  blaze.  But  there  was  an- 
otlicr  and  a  better  reason  for  the  visit,  as  he  annouru-ed  rather 
abruptly  after  a  httle. 

'*  They  've  been  talking  things  over,  do^^^l  there  to  the  vil- 
lage, and  they  've  conic  to  the  conclusion  that  they  'd  better 
send  you  off— for  a  spell — most  anywhere — so  that  you  como 
back  rugged  again.  Some  say  to  the  seaside,  and  some  say 
to  the  mountains,  but  /  say  to  Canada.  It 's  all  fixed. 
There 's  no  trouble  about  ways  and  means.  It 's  in  gold,  to 
save  the  discount,"  added  he,  rising,  and  laying  on  the  table 
something  that  jingled.  "  For  they  do  say  they  arc  pretty 
considerable  careful  in  loolcing  at  our  bills,  u^)  there  in  Cana- 
da, and  it  is  all  the  same  to  oui*  follcs,  gold  or  paper,"  and  ho 
sat  down  again,  as  though  there  was  enough  said,  and  then 
rose  as  if  to  go.     Graeme  was  startled,  and  so  was  her  father. 

"  Sit  dowai,  deacon,  and  tell  me  more.  No,  I  'm  not  going 
to  thank  you — you  need  not  run  away.  Tell  me  how  it  ha^i- 
pened." 

"  They  don't  think  papa  so  vei^  ill  ?  "  said  Graeme,  alarmed. 

"  Well — he  ain't  so  rug":ed  as  he  mioht  be — now  is  he  ?  " 


't>o^ 


said  ]Mr.  Snow,  seating  himself.  "  But  he  ain't  so  sick  but 
that  he  can  go  away  a  sjiell,  with  you  to  take  care  of  him — I 
don't  suppose  he  'd  care  about  going  by  himself.  And  Mis' 
Snow,  and  me — we  '11  take  care  of  the  children " 

"  And  what  about  this,  deacon  ?  "  asked  IVIr.  Elliott,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  purse  that  Sampson  had  placed  on  the 
table. 

But  Mr.  Snow  had  little  to  say  about  it.  If  he  knew  where 
the  idea  of  the  minister's  holidays  originated,  he  certainly  did 
not  succeed  in  makmg  it  clear  to  the  minister  and  Graeme. 

"But  that  matters  httle,  as  long  as  it  is  to  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Snow,  coming  to  the  deacon's  relief.  "  And  it  has  all  been 
done  m  a  good  spirit,  and  in  a  proper  and  kindly  manner, 
and  from  the  best  of  motives,"  added  she,  looking  anxiously 
from  Graeme  to  her  father. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,  my  kmd  friends,"  said  Mi:  Elliott, 


^ 


JANET  8    LOVE   AXD   SERVICE. 

answering  hor  look,  while  his  voice  trembled.  "The  gift 
shall  bo  accci)tcd  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  olTered.  It  gives 
me  groat  plcasui'c." 

"And,  l\Iiss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  continued  Mr«.  Snow, 
earnestly,  "you  necdna  look  so  grave  about  it.  It  is  only 
what  is  right  and  just  to  yoiu*  father — and  no  favor — though 
it  has  boon  a  great  i>leasiiro  to  all  concerned.  And  surely,  if 
I'm  satisried,  you  may  be." 

Sampson  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  She  's  changed  her  mind  about  us  Merleville  folks 
lately " 

"  Whist,  man !  I  did  that  long  ago.  And,  Miss  Graeme, 
my  dear,  think  of  seeing  your  brothers,  and  their  friends,  and 
yon  fine  country,  and  the  grand  river  that  Harry  tells  us  of ! 
It  will  be  almost  hke  seeing  Scotland  again,  to  be  in  the 
Queen's  dommions.  My  dear,  you  '11  be  quite  glad  when  you 
got  time  to  think  about  it." 

"  Yes — but  do  they  really  tliink  papa  is  so  iU  ?  " 

She  had  risen  to  get  a  hght,  and  JMrs.  Snow  had  followed 
her  from  the  room. 

"  111 !  my  dear,  if  the  doctor  thought  him  ill,  would  he  send 
him  from  home  ?  But  he  needs  a  rest,  and  a  change — and, 
my  dear,  you  do  that  yourself,  and  I  think  it 's  just  providen- 
tial. Not  but  that  you  could  have  gone  without  their  help, 
but  this  was  done  in  love,  and  I  would  fain  have  you  take 
pleasure  in  it,  as  I  do." 

And  Graeme  did  take  pleasure  in  it,  and  said  so,  heaiiily, 
and  "  though  it  wasna  just  the  thing  for  the  Sabbath  night," 
as  Janet  said,  they  lingered  a  little,  spealdng  of  the  tilings 
that  were  to  be  done,  or  to  be  left  undone,  in  view  of  the 
preparations  for  the  joui-ney.  They  returned  to  the  study 
with  the  light  just  as  IVIr.  Elliott  was  saving, 

"  And  so,  I  thought,  having  the  prospect  of  but  few  Sab- 
baths, I  would  like  to  spend  them  all  at  home." 

Janet's  first  impulse  was  to  turn  and  see  whether  Graeme 
had  heard  her  father's  words.  She  evidently  had  not,  for  she 
came  in  smiling,  and  set  the  lamp  on  the  table.    There  was 


P^^ 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


193 


notliinjif  rcassui-ing  in  the  gravity  of  her  husl)and's  face,  Mrs. 
Snow  thought,  but  his  words  were  cheerful. 

"Well  yes,  I  vote  for  Canada.  AVo  ain't  going  to  behevo 
all  the  boys  say  about  it,  but  it  will  be  a  cool  kind  of  place  to 
go  to  in  summer,  and  it  will  be  a  change,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  boys." 

(Iraemc  laughed  softly.  *'  The  boys  "  would  not  have  been 
the  last  on  her  list  of  good  reasons,  for  preferring  Canada  as 
the  scene  of  their  summer  wandcrmgs.  She  did  not  jom  in 
the  cheerful  conversation  that  followed,  however,  but  sat 
thinking  a  little  sadly,  that  the  meeting  with  the  boys,  in 
their  distant  home,  would  be  soiTowful  as  well  as  joyful. 

If  JMrs.  Snow  had  heard  anything  from  her  husband,  with 
regard  to  the  true  state  of  the  minister's  health,  she  said  no- 
thing of  it  to  Graeme,  and  she  went  about  the  preparations 
for  their  journey  cheerfully  though  very  quietly.  Indeed,  if 
her  preparations  had  l^een  on  a  scale  of  much  greater  magni- 
ficence, she  needed  not  have  troubled  herself  about  tliem. 
Ten  pairs  of  hands  were  mimediately  placed  at  her  disposal, 
where  half  the  number  would  have  sen-ed.  Her  alTairs  w^ere 
made  a  personal  matter  by  all  her  fi'iends.  Each  vied  with 
the  others  in  efforts  to  help  her  and  save  her  trouble  ;  and 
if  the  reputation  of  Merleville,  for  all  future  time,  had  de- 
pended on  the  perfect  fit  of  Graeme's  one  black  silk,  or  on 
the  fashion  of  her  grey  travelling-dress,  there  could  not,  as 
Mrs.  Snow  rather  sharply  remarked,  "  have  been  more  fuss 
made  about  it."  And  she  had  a  chance  to  know,  for  the 
deacon's  house  was  the  scene  of  their  labors  of  love.  For 
Mrs.  Snow  declared  "  she  wouldna  have  the  minister  and 
]VIiss  Graeme  fashed  with  nonsense,  more  than  all  their  pro- 
posed jaunt  would  do  them  good,  and  so  what  couldna  be 
done  there  needna  be  done  at  all." 

But  Mrs.  Snow's  interest  and  delight  in  all  the  prejiara- 
tions  were  too  real  and  manifest,  to  permit  any  of  the  willing 
helpers  to  be  oflfended  at  her  sharpness.  In  her  heart  Mrs. 
Snow  was  greatly  i^leased,  and  owned  as  much  in  private, 
but  in  public,  "saw  no  good  in  makmg  a  work  about  it," 
9 


194 


JANETS    LOVE    AND    SKUVICE. 


P 
1 1' 


jiiul,  on  bolinlf  of  tlio  inini.stcr  and  his  din^lil or,  accepted  tlio 
Ivindncss  of  tlio  pooplo  as  thoir  propter  injj^l it  and  duo.  When 
Mrs.  PajTo  idontirted  herself  with  their  allairs,  and  made  a 
journey  to  lli.\ford  for  the  purpose  f)f  procuring  the  latest 
Boston  fashion  for  sleeves,  before  Graeme's  th-css  should  bo 
niad(\  sho  preserved  the  distant  civility  of  manner,  with  which 
that  lady's  advances  were  always  met ;  and  hstcned  rather 
coldly  to  Graeme's  embarrassed  thanks,  when  the  same  lady 
presented  her  with  some  pretty  lawn  handkerchiefs  ;  but  sho 
was  warm  enough  in  her  thanks  to  Becky  Pcttimorc — I  bog 
lier  pardon,  INIrs.  Eli  Stone — for  the  soft  lamb's  wool  socks, 
spun  and  knitted  for  the  minister  by  her  own  hands,  and  her 
regi'ots  that  her  baby's  teeth  would  not  permit  her  to  join 
the  sewing  parties,  were  far  more  graciously  received  than 
were  Mrs.  Page's  profuse  offers  of  assistance. 

On  the  wholo,  it  was  manifest  that  Mrs.  Snow  appreciated 
the  Idndness  of  the  people,  though  she  Avas  not  quite  impar- 
tial in  her  bestowment  of  thanks  ;  and,  on  th^  whole,  the  peo- 
l^le  were  satisfied  with  the  *•  deacon's  wife,"  and  her  apprecia- 
tion of  them  and  their  favors.  Nothing  could  be  more  easily 
seen,  than  that  the  deacon's  wife  had  greatly  changed  her 
mind  about  many  things,  since  the  minister's  Janet  used  "to 
speak  her  mind  to  the  Merlevillc  folk,"  before  they  were  so 
well  known  to  her. 

As  for  Graeme,  her  share  in  the  business  of  preparation 
was  by  no  means  arduous.  She  was  mostly  at  homo  with 
the  bairns,  or  sharing  the  visits  of  her  father  to  the  people 
whom  he  wished  to  see  before  he  went  away.  It  was  some 
time  before  Will,  and  Rosie  could  be  persuaded  that  it  was 
right  for  Graeme  to  leave  them,  and  that  it  would  be  alto- 
gether delightful  to  Uve  all  the  time  at  IMi*.  Snow's,  and  go  to 
school  in  the  village — to  the  fine  new  high-school,  which  was 
one  of  the  evidences  of  the  increasing  prosperity  of  Merleville. 
But  they  were  entirely  persuaded  of  it  at  last,  and  promised 
to  become  so  learned,  that  Graeme  should  afterward  have 
nothing  to  teach  them.  About  the  little  ones,  the  elder  sis* 
tor's  heart  was  quite  at  rest.    It  was  not  the  leaving  them 


fif— 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND    HKRVICE. 


195 


have 

31'  sis- 

them 


ahmo,  for  they  were  to  be  in  the  keeping  of  the  kind  friend, 
who  had  cared  for  them  all  their  lives. 

(Iracnie  never  ceased  to  ronicniber  those  happy  di'ives 
with  her  father,  on  his  gentle  ministrations  to  the  sick  and 
sorrowfid  of  his  flock,  in  those  days.  She  never  thought  of 
the  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  but  she  seemed  to  see  the 
suffering  face  of  the  widow  Lovejoy,  and  her  father's  voice 
repeating, 

"  (rod  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in 
trouble."  Long  afterwards,  when  the  laughter  of  little 
children  rose  where  the  widow's  groans  had  risen,  Graeme 
could  shut  her  eyes  and  see  again  the  suflfering  face — the 
dooryard  flowers,  the  gleaming  of  the  sunlight  on  the  pond 
— the  very  shadows  of  the  maples  on  the  grass.  Then  it  was 
her  sorrowful  deUght  to  recall  those  happy  hours  of  quiet 
converse,  the  half  sad,  half  joyful  memories  which  her  father 
loved  to  dwell  upon — the  firm  and  entire  trust  for  the  future, 
of  which  his  words  assui'ed  her. 

Afterwards  it  came  to  her,  that  through  all  this  pleasant 
time,  her  father  was  looking  at  a  possibility  to  which  her  eyes 
were  shut.  lie  had  spoke  of  her  mother  as  he  had  seldom 
spoken  even  to  Graeme,  of  the  early  days  of  their  marri-.-d 
life — of  all  she  had  been  to  him,  of  all  she  had  helped  him 
to  be  and  to  do.    And  more  than  once  he  said, 

"  You  are  hke  your  mother,  Graeme,  in  some  things,  but 
you  have  not  her  hopeful  nature.  You  must  be  more  hope- 
ful and  courageous,  my  child." 

He  spoke  of  Marian,  Graeme  remembered  afterward. 
Not  as  one  speaks  of  the  dead — of  those  who  are  hidden 
from  the  si^t,  but  as  of  one  near  at  hand,  whom  he  was 
sure  to  meet  again.  Of  the  lads  far  away,  he  always  spoke 
as  "your  brothers,  Graeme."  He  spoke  hopefully,  but  a 
Uttle  anxiously,  too. 

"  For  many  a  gallant  bark  goes  down  when  its  voyage  is 
well  nigh  over  ;  and  there  is  but  one  safe  place  of  anchorage, 
and  I  know  not  whether  they  have  all  found  it  yet.  Not 
that  I  am  afi'aid  of  them.     I  believe  it  will  be  well  with  them 


I 


VM\ 


JAifin  s  r,(»vi:  and  .-kumci;. 


H 


at  last.  But  in  nil  tlio  (•li!iii}j:f>s  tluit  niny  bo  hcforo  yon,  you 
will  have  iiootl  of  paiiciuu!.  You  iiiiiHt  1k^  paliciit.  wiili  your 
brothers,  (Iracnio  ;  and  l)o  t'aitliful  to  thoui,  love,  and  never 
let  them  waniler  luiehceked  from  wliat  in  ri^'ht,  for  your 
mother's  Hake  and  min(\" 

He  spoke  of  theii*  leavin;jf  liom(>,  and  very  thankfully  of 
the  blessings  Ihat  had  followed  them  since  then  ;  of  llie  land- 
iiess  of  the  people,  and  his  1()V(^  to  them  ;  and  of  the  luialth 
and  happines.s  of  all  the  bairns,  "of  whom  one  has  j^'ot  homo 
before  me,  safely  and  soon." 

•'  Wo  mif^ht  hav(j  come  here,  love,  had  your  niotlier  lived. 
And  yet,  I  do  not  know.  The  ties  of  homo  and  <'ountry  are 
stronjj,  and  there  was  mueh  to  ki^ej)  us  there.  Her  di^parture 
made  all  the  rest  easy  for  me,  and  I  am  (faitc  convinccnl  our 
coming  was  for  tho  best.  There  is  only  one  tiling  that  I 
have  wished,  and  I  know  it  is  a  vain  thint;."  He  paused  a 
moment. 

"  Of  late  I  have  sometimes  th(m<^ht — I  mean  the  thought 
has  sometimes  come  to  me  unbidden — that  I  would  like  to 
rest  bosido  her  at  last.  But  it  is  only  a  fancy.  I  Icnow  it 
will  make  no  diifcrenco  in  tho  end." 

If  Graemo  grew  pale  and  trembled  as  she  hstened,  it  was 
with  no  di'oad  that  she  could  name.  If  it  was  forced  upon 
her  that  the  time  must  come  when  her  father  nuist  leavo 
them,  it  lay  in  her  thoughts,  far  away.  She  saw  his  grave 
dimly  as  a  place  of  rest,  when  the  labors  of  a  long  life  should 
be  ended  ;  she  had  no  thought  of  change,  or  separation,  or 
of  tho  blank  that  such  a  blessed  dopai'tiu'C  must  leave.  The 
jKjaco  whicli  had  taken  possession  of  his  mind  liad  its  influ- 
ence on  hers,  and  she  "  feared  Uv     vil."  ** 

Afterwards,  when  the  thought  of  this  time  and  of  these 
words  came  back  she  chid  herself  with  impatience,  and  a 
strange  wonder,  tliat  she  should  not  have  seen  and  under- 
stood all  that  was  in  his  thought — forgetting  in  her  first 
agony  how  much  better  was  the  blessed  repose  of  these 
moments,  than  the  knowledge  of  her  coming  sorrow  could 
have  made  them. 


JAXICT  B    LciVr.    AND   HI! U VICT 


H>7 


]\V 


u    il.l    .^ 


Klir  wcii 


They  all  pjiswd  <li(!  rides  ami  viKits  mid  tlu;  hap[»y  talkK 
t< >;-••< ;t her.  Tlu;  |)n'])!iratii)ns  iuv  tho  j-ninicy  were,  all  iiiadt«. 
Tlu'  <;()C)d-l»y('H  were!  siiid  to  all  cxctipt  to  Mrs.  Snow  and 
]']iiiilv.  Tli(!  list  iii;.(lit  was  come,  and  (iraonuj  went  round 
he  !il',\:i_vs  did,  io  close  the  doors  and  windows  bcfon; 
t  io  bed.  She  was  tirol,  l)ut  not  too  tinsd  to  lin'^^cr 
a  littit!  while  at  tlu-  window,  looking'  out  upon  tlu;  scciue,  -aow 
so  I'amili'U*  and  so  dear.  The  shadows  of  the  elms  lay  dark 
on  tlu!  lawn,  hut  the  nioonli;j[ht  ^deanied  bri^dit  on  the  pond, 
and  on  the  white  houses  of  the  villa-^e,  and  on  the  white 
stones  in  the  f^a-aveyard,  ^n-own  precious  to  them  all  as 
IMenie's  resl in^"-plae(\  How  peaceful  it  looked!  CJraemc 
thou<,'ht  of  her  sister's  last  days,  and  joyful  lio])e,  and 
wondered  whi(;!i  of  them  all  sliould  first  he  called  to  lie  down 
by  Menie's  side.  She  thought  of  tlu^  rryivc  far  away  on  the 
otlier  side  of  the  sea,  wjiere  they  had  laid  her  mother  with 
her  baby  on  Iku-  breast;  but  her  I' ou^j^hf s  were  not  all 
soiTowful.  She  tiioujj^ht  of  the  many  happy  duys  that  had 
come  to  them  since  tlu,'  tiiMc  lliat  earth  had  Im  -n  left  dark  and 
desolate  bv  their  mother's  d(.'c;,th,  andrLali/(  d  for  (he  moment 
how  true  it  v.as,  as  her  father  had  said  to  her,  that  God 
suli'ers  no  sorrow  to  fall  on  those  avIio  ^v'ait  on  Him,  for 
which  He  does  not  als(^  provide  a  balm. 

*'  I  will  trust  and  not  bo  afraid,"  she  nuirmured. 

She  thought  of  her  brothers,  and  of  the  hajipy  meethig 
that  lay  before  them,  but  beyond  their  pleasant  holiday  .^he 
did  not  try  to  hjok  ;  but  mused  on  till  her  musings  lost  them- 
selves in  slumber,  and  changed  io  dreams.. 

At  lea;it,  she  always  thought  she  must  have  fallen  asleep, 
and  that  it  was  the  sudden  calling  of  her  name,  that  awak- 
ened her  with  a  start.  Siio  did  not  hear  it  vdien  she  listened 
for  it  again.  She  did  not  think  of  Rosie  t)r  "Will.,  but  w  ent 
straight  t(j  her  father's  room.  Through  the  half  open  door, 
she  saw  that  the  bed  was  undistiu'bed,  and  that  her  father 
sat  m  the  arm-chair  by  the  wiiidow.  Tlic  lamp  bm-ncd 
dimly  on  the  table  beside  him,  and  on  the  floor  lay  an  open 
book,  as  it  had  fallen  from  his  hand.     The  moonlight  shone 


198 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


on  his  silver  hair,  and  on  his  tranqml  face     Th^r.  ^ 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  were  c"  *if  fn tep  I? 

fiom  that  sleep  her  father  would  never  waken  more. 


i 


CHAPTER    XX. 


IT  was  a  very  changed  life  that  opened  before  the  bairns 
when  Ai'tliur  took  them  home  with  him  to  Montreal.  A 
very  dismal  change  it  seemed  to  them  all,  on  the  first  morn- 
ing when  their  brothers  left  them  alone.  Home  !  Could  it 
ever  seem  like  home  to  them  ?  Think  of  the  dwellers  among 
the  breezy  hills  of  Merleville  shut  up  in  a  narrow  brick 
house  in  a  close  city  street.  Graeme  had  said  that  if  they 
could  all  keep  together,  it  did  not  so  much  matter  how  or 
where  ;  but  her  courage  almost  failed  as  she  turned  to  look 
out  of  the  window  that  first  morning. 

Before  her  lay  a  confined,  untidy  yard,  which  they  were  to 
share  with  these  neighbors  ;  and  beyond  that,  as  far  as  could 
be  seen,  lay  only  roofs  and  chimneys.  From  the  room  above 
the  view  was  the  same,  only  the  roofs  and  chimneys  stretched 
farther  away,  and  here  and  there  between  them  showed  the 
dusty  bough  of  a  maple  or  elm,  or  the  ragged  top  of  a  Lom- 
bardy  poplar,  and,  in  the  distance,  when  the  sun  shone,  lay 
a  bright  streak,  which  they  came  at  last  to  know  as  Hari-y'a 
grand  river.  On  the  otlier  side,  toward  the  street,  the  window 
looked  out  on  a  brick  wall,  over  which  hung  gi'eat  willow-boughs 
shading  half  the  street.  The  brick  wall  and  the  willows  were 
better  than  the  roofs  and  chiumey-toiis,  Rosie  thought;  but 
it  was  a  dreary  soi*t  of  betterness.  From  Graeme's  room 
above  were  seen  still  the  wall  and  the  willows,  but  ov(U'  the 
wall  and  between  the  willows  was  got  a  ghnipse  of  a  garden — 
a  very  pretty  garden.  It  was  only  a  gUmpsc — a  small  part 
of  a  cu'cular  bit  of  green  gi'ass  before  the  door  of  a  hand- 
some house,  and  around  this,  and  under  the  wuidows,  fiowers 
and  shrubs  of  various  kinds.     There  was  a  conservatory  at 

(100) 


200 


JANKTrt    LOVi;    AND   i^KIlVirE. 


ty 


It'!' 


[HI 


one  end,  Imt  of  thiit  t1u\y  saw  notliinuf  bnf,  a  blitidiiifj^  glaro 
when  tlio  snn  shone  on  it — manv  jiaui^H  of  {^'lasH  wlicn  tho 
sun  \vaH  •j^on(\  The  ^ar(l(Mi  Hocnicd  to  extend  beliind  tho 
house  ;  bat  thev  conhl  only  see  a  HiM(H)tli  f^ravel  walk  with 
an  cdjj^e  of  f^reen.  (^lun»i)s  of  cvcrjjfreens  and  horse-chestnuts 
hid  all  the  iH^st.  IJut  even  these  were  very  b(>autiful  ;  and 
this  jjfhnipse  of  a  rich  man's  {j^arden,  from  an  upi)er  window, 
was  the  rodecmiujj^  f(?aturo  in  their  new  home. 

For  it  was  summer — tho  very  prime  of  sunmicr-timc^— and 
cxoe])t  for  that  little  {jflinipso  of  j^ardon,  and  tho  dusty  maplo 
bou«;hs,  and  tho  raj^fifed  tops  of  the  poplars,  it  might  just  as 
well  have  been  winter.  There  was  notliing  to  remind  them 
of  summer,  but  the  air  hanging  over  them  hot  and  close,  or 
sweeping  in  sudden  dust-laden  gusts  down  the  narrow  street. 
Yes  ;  there  was  the  long  streak  of  blue,  which  Harry  called 
the  river,  seen  from  the  upjier  window  ;  but  it  was  only 
visible  in  suimy  days,  at  h^ast  it  only  gleamed  and  sparkled 
then  ;  it  was  but  a  dim,  grey  lino  at  other  times. 

How  changed  their  life  was  ;  how  they  drooped  and  pined 
for  tho  sights  and  soiuids  and  fri(nids  of  IMerlevillo. 

"  If  there  were  but  a  green  lield  in  sight,  or  a  single  hill," 
said  Rosie  ;  but  she  always  added,  "  how  nice  it  is  to  liavo 
the  willow  trees  and  the  sight  of  tho  garden." 

For  Hose  was  by  no  means  sure  that  their  longing  for 
gi'cen  tields  and  hills  and  woods  was  not  wrong.  It  seemed 
like  ingi-atitudo  to  Arthur,  this  pining  for  the  country  and 
their  old  home,  and  these  young  girls  from  tho  very  first 
made  a  ih'm  stand  against  the  homesickness  that  came  upon 
them.  Not  that  homesickness  is  a  sickness  that  can  bo  cured 
by  struggling  against  it ;  but  they  tried  hard  to  keep  tho 
knowledge  of  it  from  their  brothers.  Whatever  happened 
duruig  the  K>ng  days,  they  had  a  pleasant  brcalcfast-hour  and 
a  pleasant  evening  together.  They  seldom  saw  their  brothers 
at  other  times  during  the  first  few  months.  Harry's  hours 
were  long,  and  Arthur's  business  was  increasing  so  as  to 
require  close  attention.  This  was  a  matter  of  much  rejoicing 
to  Graeme,  who  did  not  know  that  all  Ai'thur's  business  was 


JANKTS    LOVK    AND   SKUVICE. 


201 


not  strictly  profcs.sional  —  that  it  was  biiHincsH  W(!ariHomo 
ciiou^^'li,  and  Koiiiotiitics  Inuii^^iiig  in  but  littlo,  ];ut  alwolutely 
iicc('ssiu;y  for  that  littlo'.M  .salv(!. 

(iraonio  and  Iiosio  wcio  at  homo  alone,  and  thoy  found  tho 
days  h)n^  and  to<hous  often,  thou^^h  thoy  conHciciitiously 
Htrov(f  to  look  at  all  thiiij^H  from  thoir  hoHt  and  bri^^'htcHt  Hide. 
For  a  \vhil(}  they  were  too  busy — too  anxJoiiH  for  tho  huch-ohs 
of  their  domestic  plans,  to  have  time  for  lioinoHiclmcsH.  But 
when  the  first  arran<^'(tments  were  made — when  the  taste  and 
skill  of  Graeme,  and  the  inexhaustible  Htrength  of  tlioir  now 
maid,  Ncilly  Andcsrson,  had  (•han;^'ed  the  dinj^y  house  into  as 
bright  and  pleasant  a  place  as  might  well  be  in  a  city 
s'reet,  then  came  tho  lov.f*  dayH  and  the  wearinesH.  Then 
came  upon  (Jraemo  that  which  Janet  bad  pi'ctlict(jd,  when 
she  so  earnestly  sot  her  face  against  theii'  going  away  from 
Merloville  till  the  summer  was  over.  Her  fictitious  strength 
failed  her.  The  reaction  from  all  the  exertion  and  excite- 
ment of  the  winter  and  spruig  came  upon  her  now,  and  she 
•was  utterly  prostrate.  She  did  not  give  up  willingly.  In- 
deed, she  had  no  paticsnee  with  Iiersolf  in  tho  miserable 
state  into  whicli  she  had  fallen.  She  was  ashamed  and 
alarmed  at  her  disinclination  to  exert  herself — at  her  indif- 
ference to  everything ;  but  the  exertion  she  made  to  over- 
come the  evil  only  aggravated  it,  and  soon  was  quite  beyond 
her  power.  Her  da\s  were  passed  in  utter  helplesflncss  on 
the  sofa.  She  either  denied  herself  to  thoii'  few  visitors,  or 
left  them  to  be  entertained  by  Rose.  All  her  strength  and 
spirits  were  needed  for  the  evening  when  her  brothers  were 
at  home. 

Some  attention  to  household  afTau's  was  absolutely  noccf*' 
sary,  oven  when  the  time  came,  that  for  want  of  something 
else  to  do  Nolly  nodded  for  hours  in  the  long  afternoons 
over  the  knitting  of  a  stocking.  For  though  Nelly  could  do 
whalevor  could  bo  accomplished  l)y  main  strength,  the  skill 
necessary  for  the  arrangement  of  tho  nicer  matters  of  their 
little  household  was  not  in  her,  and  Graeme  was  never  left 
quite  at  rest  as  to  tho  piogi'oss  of  events  in  her  dominions, 
9* 


*l 


4 


202 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


I 


It  was  a  very  fortunate  chance  that  had  cast  her  lot  with 
theirs  soon  after  their  arrival,  Graeme  knew  and  acknowl- 
edged ;  but  after  the  handineas  and  immaculate  neatness  of 
Hannah  Lovejoy,  it  was  tiresome  to  have  nothing  to  fall 
back  upon  but  the  help  of  the  untaught  Nelly.  Her  wilHng- 
ness  and  kind-heartedness  made  her,  in  many  respects,  in- 
valuable to  them  ;  but  her  field  of  action  had  hitherto  been 
a  tmiiip-field,  or  a  field  in  which  cows  were  kept ;  and  though 
she  was,  by  her  own  account,  "  just  wonderfu'  at  the  making 
of  butter,"  she  had  not  much  skill  at  anything  else.  If  it 
would  have  brought  color  to  the  cheek,  or  elasticity  to  the 
step  of  her  young  mistress,  Nelly  would  gladly  have  carried 
her  every  morning  in  her  arms  to  the  top  of  the  mountain ; 
but  nothing  would  have  induced  her,  during  these  first  days,  to 
undertake  the  responsibility  of  breakfast  or  dinner  without 
Graeme's  special  overlooking.  She  would  walk  miles  to  do 
her  a  kindness ;  but  she  could  not  step  lightly  or  sjjeak 
softly,  or  shut  the  door  without  a  bang,  and  often  caused  her 
torture  when  doing  her  very  best  to  help  or  cheer  her. 

But  whatever  happened  through  the  day,  for  the  evening 
Graeme  exerted  herself  to  seem  well  and  cheerful.  It  was 
easy  enough  to  do  when  Harry  was  at  home,  or  when  Arthur 
was  not  too  busy  to  read  to  them.  Then  she  could  still 
have  the  arm-chair  or  the  sofa,  and  hear,  or  not  hear,  as  the 
case  might  be.  But  when  any  eflfort  was  necessary — when 
she  must  interest  herself,  or  seem  to  interest  herself  in  her 
work,  or  when  Arthur  brought  any  one  home  with  him, 
making  it  necessaiy  for  Graeme  to  be  hospitable  and  con- 
versational, then  it  was  very  bad  indeed.  She  might  get 
through  very  well  at  the  tune  with  it  all,  but  a  miserable 
night  was  sure  to  follow,  and  she  could  only  toss  about 
through  the  slow  hours  exhausted  yet  sleepless. 

Oh,  how  miserable  some  of  these  HuUry  August  nights 
were,  when  she  lay  helpless,  her  sick  fancy  changing  into 
dear  famihar  sounds  the  hum  that  ro.se  from  the  city  be- 
neath. Now  it  was  the  swift  spriug-time  rush  of  Carson's 
brook,  now  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  waters  of  the  pond 


m 


Janet's  love  and  seuvick. 


203 


breaking  on  the  white  pebbles  of  the  beach.  Tlie  wind 
among  the  willow-boughs  whispered  to  her  of  the  pine  gi'ovo 
and  the  garden  at  home,  till  her  heart  gi-cw  sick  with  long- 
ing to  see  them  again.  It  was  always  the  same.  If  the  bit- 
ter sorrow  that  bereavement  had  brought  made  any  part  of 
what  she  suffered  now  ;  if  the  void  which  death  had  made 
deepened  the  loneliness  of  this  di'eai-y  time,  she  thd  not  know 
it.  ^ill  this  weariness  of  body  and  sinking  of  heart  might 
have  come  tliough  she  had  never  left  Merleville,  but  it  did 
not  seem  so  to  her.  It  was  always  of  home  she  thought. 
She  rose  uii  and  lay  down  with  longing  for  it  fresh  and  sore. 
She  started  from  troubled  slumber  to  breal:  into  passionate 
weeping  when  there  was  no  one  to  see  her.  She  struggled 
against  the  misory  that  lay  so  licaAdly  upon  her,  but  not  suc- 
cessfully.    Health  and  courage  failed. 

Of  course,  this  stat«  of  things  could  not  continue  long. 
They  must  get  either  better  or  worse,  Graeme  thought,  and 
worse  it  was.  Arthiu'  and  Harry  coming  home  earhcr  than 
usual  found  her  as  she  had  never  allowed  them  to  find  her 
before,  lying  listlessly,  almost  helplessly  on  the  sofa.  Her 
utmost  effort  to  appear  well  and  cheerful  at  the  sight  of  them 
failed  this  once.  She  rose  slowly  and  leaned  back  again 
almost  immediately,  closhig  her  eyes  with  a  sigh. 

"  Graeme !  "  exclaimed  Hariy,  "  what  ails  you  !  Such  a 
face  !     Look  here,  I  have  something  for  you.     Guess  what." 

"  A  letter,"  said  Rose.     "  Oh !  Graeme  look !  " 

But  Graeme  was  past  looking  by  this  time.  Her  brothers 
were  startled  and  tried  to  raise  her. 

"  Don't  iVrthur,"  said  Rose  ;  "  let  her  he  down.  She  will 
be  l3etter  in  a  httle.     Hariy  get  some  water." 

Poor,  wee  Rosie !  Her  hands  trembled  among  the  fasten- 
ings of  Graeme's  dress,  but  she  knew  well  what  to  do. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  she  has  been  like  this  before  ?  '  said 
Arthiu',  in  alarm. 

'•  Yes  ;  once  or  twice.  She  is  tu-ed,  she  says.  She  will 
Doon  be  better,  now." 

In  a  minute  Graeme  opened  her  eyes,  and  sat  up.     It  waa 


l^. !  '!^ 


204 


Janet's  love  and  seevice. 


1      '.If 

|!|     \\ 

i  -1           ':' 

• :        ': 

■  1 

nothing,  she  said,  and  Ai'thnr  was  not  to  be  frightened  ;  but 
thoroughly  frightened  Arthur  was,  and  in  a  little  while 
Graeme  found  herself  i^laced  in  the  doctor's  hands.  It  was 
a  very  kind,  pleasant  face  that  bent  over  her,  but  it  was  a 
grave  face  too,  at  the  moment.  When  Graeme  repeated  her 
assurance  that  she  was  not  ill,  but  only  overcome  with  the 
heat  and  weariness  ;  he  said  these  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  doubtless,  and  spoke  cheerfully  about  her  soon  being  well 
again  ;  and  Ai'thur's  face  quite  brightened,  as  he  left  the  room 
with  him.  Rose  followed  them,  and  when  her  brother's  hand 
was  on  the  door,  whispered. 

"  Please,  Arthiu*,  may  I  say  something  to  the  doctor  ?  I 
think  it  is  partly  because  Graeme  is  homesick." 

"  Homesick ! "  repeated  the  doctor  and  Arthur  in  a  breath. 

"  Perhaps  not  homesick  exactly,"  said  Rose  ;  eagerly  ad- 
dressing her  brother.  "  She  would  not  go  back  again  you 
know  ;  but  eveiy  thing  is  so  different — no  garden,  no  hills, 
no  pond.  And  oh !  Ai-thur,  don't  be  vexed,  but  we  have  no 
Janet  nor  anything  here." 

Rosie  made  a  brave  stand  againt  the  tears  and  sobs  that 
were  rising  in  spite  of  her,  but  she  was  fain  to  hide  her  face 
on  her  brother's  arm  as  he  drew  her  toward  him,  and  sat 
down  on  the  sofa.     The  doctor  sat  down,  too. 

"  Why,  Rosie  I  My  poor,  wee  Rosie !  what  has  happened  to 
my  merry  Httle  sister  ?  " 

"  I  thought  the  doctor  ought  to  know,  and  you  must  not 
tell  Graeme.     She  does  not  think  that  I  know." 

"  Know  what  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

"  That  she  is  so  sad,  and  that  the  time  seems  long.  But  I 
have  watched  her,  and  I  know." 

*'  Well,  I  fear  it  is  not  a  case  for  you,  doctor,"  said  Arthur, 
anxiously. 

But  the  doctor  thought  differently.  There  was  more  the 
matter  ^^^th  Graeme  than  her  sister  knew,  thoagh  the  home- 
sickness may  have  something  to  do  with  it ;  and  then  he 
added, 


1 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


205 


"  Her  strength  must  have  been  severely  tried  to  bring  her 
to  this  state  of  weakness." 

Ai'thui'  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  There  was  long  illness  in  the  family — and  then  death — 
my  sister's  first,  and  then  my  father's.  And  then  I  brought 
the  rest  here." 

It  was  not  easy  for  Arthur  to  say  all  this.  In  a  little  he 
added  with  an  effort, 

"  I  fear  I  liave  not  done  well  in  bringing  them.  But  they 
■wished  to  come,  and  I  could  not  leave  them." 

"  You  did  right,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Your 
sister  might  have  been  -ill  anywhere.  She  might  have  been 
worse  without  a  change.  The  thing  is  to  make  her  weU  again 
— which,  I  trust,  we  can  soon  do — with  the  help  of  IVIiss 
Eosie,  who  will  make  a  patient  and  cheerful  nui'se,  I  am 
sm-e." 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  gravely.     "I  W'ill  tiy." 

Arthur  said  somethuig  about  taking  them  to  the  country, 
out  of  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  town. 

"Yes  ;"  said  the  doctor.  "  The  heat  is  bad.  But  it  will 
not  last  long  now,  and  on  the  whole,  I  think  she  is  better 
■where  she  is,  at  present.  There  is  no  danger.  She  will  soon 
be  as  well  as  usual,  I  think." 

But  it  was  not  veiy  soon.  Indeed,  it  was  a  long  time  before 
Graeme  was  as  well  as  usual ;  not  until  the  leaves  on  the 
willows  had  grown  withered  and  giey,  and  the  summer  had 
quite  gone.  Not  imtil  kind  Doctor  McCuUoch  had  come 
almost  daily  for  many  weeks — ^long  enough  for  him  to  become 
much  interested  in  both  patient  and  nm'se. 

A  wonderful  nm'se  Rose  proved  herself  to.  At  first  some- 
thing was  said  about  introducing  a  more  experienced  person 
into  Graeme's  chamber,  but  both  Rose  and  Nelly  Anderson 
objected  so  decidedly  to  this,  and  aided  and  abetted  one  an- 
other so  successfully  in  their  oj^position  to  it,  that  the  desig^n 
■^^'as  given  up  on  condition  that  Eosie  kept  weU  and  cheerful 
to  prove  her  claim  to  the  title  of  nurse.     Sbe  kept  cheerful, 


200 


JANKTfl    LOVE   AND   SlCUVKJi:. 


Ji 


but  slio  f^cw  tjill  and  thin,  and  a  great  deal  too  qnict  to  bo 
like  iKU'self,  hor  l)rotlu)r,s  thouj^lit ;  so  whatever  was  forgotten 
or  neglected  during  the  day,  llo.sie  niueit  go  out  with  one  of 
them  for  a  h)ng  walk  while  the  other  staid  with  Graeme,  and 
by  this  means  the  health  and  spirits  of  the  anxious  little  lady 
were  kept  fi'oni  failing  altogether.  For  indeed  the  long  days 
and  niglits  might  well  bo  trying  to  the  child,  wlio  had  never 
ne(Hl{>d  to  think  twice  about  hor  own  (!omfort  all  her  life,  and 
who  was  now  quite  too  acutely  sensible,  how  much  the  com- 
fort of  all  the  rest  depended  upon  her.  But  she  bore  the 
trial  well,  and  indeed  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  it  was 
quite  as  pleasant  to  be  made  useful,  .to  be  trusted  and  con- 
sulted, and  de]>ended  upon,  as  to  be  petted  and  played  with 
by  her  brothers.  She  quite  liked  the  sense  of  resi)onsibility, 
especially  when  Graeme  began  to  get  well  again,  and  though 
she  got  tii'od  very  often,  and  grew  pale  now  and  then,  they  all 
agreed  afterward  that  this  time  did  Rose  no  harm,  but  a  great 
deal  of  good. 

As  for  Nelly  Andei'son,  cu'cumstauces  certainly  developed 
her  powers  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner — not  as  a  nui*se, 
however.  Her  efforts  in  that  line  were  confined  to  rambling 
excursions  about  the  sick-room  in  her  stocking-feet,  and  to 
earnest  entreaties  to  Graeme  not  to  lose  heart.  But  in  the 
way  of  dinners  and  breakfasts,  she  excited  the  astonishment 
of  the  household,  and  her  own  most  of  all.  When  Arthur 
had  peremiitorily  forbidden  that  any  reference  should  be 
made  to  Graeme  in  household  matters,  Nelly  had  helplessly 
betaken  herself  to  Rose,  and  Rose  had  as  helplessly  betaken 
herself  to  "Catherine  Bcecher."  Nothing  short  of  the  state 
of  absolute  despair  in  which  she  found  herself,  would  have 
induced  Nelly  to  put  faith  in  a  "  piinted  book,"  in  any  mat- 
ter where  the  labor  of  her  hands  was  concenieil.  But  her 
accomphshments  as  a  cook  did  not  extend  the  making  of 
"jjorridge"  or  the  "choppin'  of  potatoes,"  and  more  was  re- 
quired. So  with  fear  and  trembling.  Rose  and  she  "laid 
their  heads  together,"  over  that  invaluable  giiido  to  inexpe- 
rienced housekeepers,  and  the  result  was  success — indeed  a 


u'jRirniiflMiRi  i>.*Ki.auiM 


JANET  B    LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


207 


iti 


and  to 

in  the 

iment 

bthnr 

1  be 

cssly 

;aL:eu 

state 

have 

mat- 

t  her 

igoi 


I 


series  of  successes.  For  emboldened  by  the  favorable  recep- 
tion of  their  elTorts,  Nelly  went  on  and  prospered  ;  and  Hose, 
content  that  she  should  have  all  the  honor  of  success,  per- 
mitted her  to  have  all  the  responsibility  also. 

Almost  every  mominpf  Hose  had  a  walk,  either  with  Harry 
to  his  office  or  with  Will,  to  the  school,  while  Arthur  staid 
with  Graciue.  The  walk  was  generally  quick  enouj^h  to  brinj^ 
a  bright  {!olor  to  her  cheeks,  and  it  was  always  a  meny  time 
if  Harry  was  with  hei',  and  then  she  was  ready  for  her  long 
diiy  at  h(Mne.  She  sometimes  lingered  on  the  way  back.  Ou 
the  broad  shady  pavements  of  the  streets  she  used  to  choose, 
when  she  was  alone,  she  made  many  a  pause  to  watch  th(! 
httlo  children  at  theu'  play.  She  used  to  ling(n%  too,  wher- 
ever the  ugly  brick  walls  had  been  rei)laced  l)y  the  pretty 
iron  railings,  with  which  eveiy  good  rich  man  will  surround 
his  gardens,  in  order  that  they  who  have  no  gardens  of  their 
own  may  have  a  chance  to  sec  sometliing  beautiful  too.  And 
whenever  she  came  to  an  open  gate,  the  pause  was  long. 
She  was  in  danger  then  of  forgetting  her  womanliness  and 
her  gravity,  and  of  exclaiming  like  a  little  girl,  and  sometimes 
she  forgot  herself  so  far  as  to  let  her  feet  advance  fai'thor  up 
the  gravel  walk  than  in  her  sober  moments  she  would  have 
considered  advisable. 

One  bright  morning,  as  she  returned  home,  she  found  lior- 
self  standing  before  the  large  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  For  the  first  time  she  found  the  large  gate  wide 
open.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  taking  two  steps  for- 
ward. Rose  saw  more  of  the  pretty  garden  within  than  she 
had  ever  seen  before.  She  had  often  been  tempted  to  walk 
round  the  smooth  broad  wallcs  of  other  gardens,  but  second 
thoughts  had  always  prevented  her.  This  time  she  did  not 
wait  for  second  thoughts,  but  deliberately  determined  to  walk 
round  the  carriage  way  without  leave  asked  or  given. 

The  garden  belonged  to  Mr.  Elphinstone,  a  great  man — at 
least  a  great  merchant  in  the  eyes  of  the  ^\  orld.  One  of 
Rose's  amu-iements  during  the  time  she  was  confined  in  her 
sister's  sick  room  was  to  watch  the  comings  and  goings  of 


I  > 


liOH 


.lAM  r  H   LOVM   AM»  si;itvi('i;. 


U         :i 


liis  ()]ily  «'liil<l,  !i  ^'irl  t>ntv  n  lilllr  oMci-  Hum  TloMd  lirrsrlf. 
Sotiu-iinirs  slic  WHS  in  .-i  lilllc  pony  ciiiriiijfc",  wliicli  hIk^  (Irov^i 
Iiri-Mcll';  s(Mn('l.iiii("s  mIi(>  wiim  in  ii.  Iiii\';(«  «';irriii;;»>  driven  l>y  ii 
^;'r!n»»-li)()Kin<','  (•o.'U'InuMn  willi  a  very  |.;li>s,sy  li;il.  iiimI  very  \vliil<^ 
f^lov(Vi.  IJosic  us(>(l  l()  envy  li(>r  ii  lilM(>  wlicn  hIic  m;i\v  li<>r 
Wiillun;^  nlionf  in  llif  <.;-Mr(l('n  <;;!vllit'rin;^- l.lic  llowciH  m(.  licr  own 
will. 

"Uow  hM]>]\v  h\\o  tntisi,  l)t> !"  nlu<  llion;',lil  now,  us  hIki  hIooiI 
tj.'V'/inf^  jiltoui  licv,  "If  hIio  is  (i  nico  youn;;'  Ituly,  um  I  iini 
r.lniosi  sin'c  slir  is.  sh(>  wonld  rallicr  tluil.  \  (Mijoycd  li(>r  dow- 
n's th.-ui  nol,  A<  luiy  rale  I  nni  j^'oini^^  l,o  wnlk  i-onnd  jmhI, 
on<v — imd  l!i(M»  <!fo." 

lint  it  was  not  an  <>asy  niativr  (o  ^r\,  ronnd  llu^  circlo.  11, 
was  not  a  xcvy  lav;;('  ono,  bnl.  tlicrc  W(>r«>  llowcrH  all  ronnd  if,, 
and  \\oH\o  iiasscd  slowly  on  lost,  in  wond(>r  and  <l('li;^'Iii,  as 
8onu*  slvanf^;*'  blossom  pvesrntcd  itself.  It  took  a  lon;r  iiino 
to  ]iass  (|nit(^  ronnd,  and  before  this  was  aeeoniplislaMl,  li(>r 
footsteps  W(>re  arrested  by  n  spleniiid  eai'dinal  llow(>r,  that 
{;"rew  within  the  shadow  of  ih»>  wall.  It  was  not  (]uit<^  a 
stranj^er.  Slu»  had  ;:rath(M"<«d  a  spi>eies  of  it  often  in  the  low 
banks  of  the.]v>nd  ;  and  as  she  bent  over  it  with  d<'lij;ht,  a 
voiee  startled  hiu* — 

"  You  should  have  seen  it  a  whili>  a>.;^o.  It  i.s  ])ast  its  best 
now." 

luise  turninij;  saw  the  {gardener,  and  hastily  stannnerin;^'  an 
oxouse,  i>repared  to  «ifo.  But  he  did  not  8i>eni  to  luujerstand 
that  she  was  an  intrud(H\ 

"If  you'll  oonu^  I'ound  this  way  I'll  show'  yi)u  tlowers  tlia.t 
are  worth  Uniki  ^;^  at,"  said  luv 

"He  thinks  I  an\  a  visitor,"  said  R(V^o  to  herself.  "I'm 
sure  I  admire  his  llowers  as  nmeh  as  any  of  th(>m  can  do. 
It  won't  trouble^  him  nnich  to  show  them  to  me,  and  I  '11  just 
go  with  him." 

So  picking  np  her  In^nnet  that  had  fallen  on  the  walk,  she 
followed  him,  a  little  fri.i;htened  at  her  own  boldness,  but 
verj'  much  elate.  She  tlid  not  think  the  gai-deji  grew  pret- 
tier as  they  went  on,  and  her  conductor  hurried  her  j^ast  a 


r 


-oiiiUMi 


•lANl.TM    I.oVi:    ANf»   HKftvniK. 


201) 


f^'(!at  many  iircK.y  s(|H!ircH  iiikI  circlcH  willnnii  {Mvin;^  her  iirrin 
to  lulniim  Mk'Hi.  II(»  Hloppcd  iii  hinl  l»»f'r»r(!  a  lon^',  nHrr()W 
Ix'd,  wIht*'  Mi((  llowcru  wriv*  •^^•<)wiiif;  wil.liont  ri'^'iird  in  rv/^n- 
larily  aw  U>  ai'i'aii;^'<MiM'iit, ;  luil,  oli !  hiicIi  ^•(>\(>v'u^<^  !  hiicIi  (N'pth 
and  i'i('lmrHH!  Wliaf.  v«'rl«iMiw  aii<l  lu-lioiropc^  !  — wlial  jun- 
]>l«in  — ('riinMoiri  -HcarlctiH !  IIoho  coiiM  only  (^';i/,ci  aiul  won- 
dvr  and  cxj^laini,  wliih;  licr  fii(!nd  listcrxd,  and  waH  cvidciidly 
well  ph'ascd  with  licr  dcli^^dit,. 

Af,  lant  it  wan  iiitm  to  ^<>,  mid  Hosf;  nij^'lifid  an  hIio  wiid  il,. 
]Jiit  hIu!  tlianbid  Iiini  willi  Hparklin^j  ryes  for  liin  kindnrsKH, 
iin<l  ad(l«'d  dcju-cM-atini^'ly — 

"•I  am  not  a  visitor  hero.  I  Haw  tlic  irdc.  upon  and  camo 
in.     I  conld  n't  Inlp  it." 

It  was  a  Hmall  mattcT  in  her  ivw  friend  vvIietluT  Klir-,  woio 
n  visitor  at  tin;  "^rcat  Iioiikj!  or  not. 

"You  la>n  a  llowrr  vvli(!n  you  hc.c  it,"  K.iid  lie,  *'  and  that's 
mor(!  than  aui  be.  said  of  sonu;  of  tlu!  vinitorH  licrr;." 

]T(!  lod  tli(i  way  round  the  ^'ardcn  till  tlir-y  cMno  to  a  wum- 
in(!r-houH()  covorod  with  n  flowcriii;.^  vine,  whifh  wan  liko  noth- 
ing over  lloHe  had  seen  bcforti. 

"It  AvaH  just  hko  wliat  a  Ijowor  on^^lit  to  ])(),"  hIio  tohl 
Graeme,  afterwards.  "It  was  just  hko  a  lady's  l)ower  in  a 
book." 

There  was  a  htth;  mound  before  if,  n))f>n  wliieh  and  in  tlio 
borders  close  by  f^^rew  a  j^a'csat  many  tlowers.  Not  ran;  flow- 
ers, Hiich  as  kIh!  had  just  been  adniirinj,',  but  tlowers  sweet 
and  common,  pansie.s  and  thyme,  sweet  p(!as  and  irii;.,aionette. 
It  was  Miss  Elphinstoiie's  own  bower,  the  {^ardeiK^r  said,  and 
these  were  her  favorite  llov,-ers.  Kose  br-nt  rjver  a  pah;  little 
blossom  near  the  path — 

"What  is  this?"  aslced  she  ;  and  then  .she  was  sorry,  fear- 
ing to  have  it  spoiled  l)y  some  long  unpronouneGal)le  name. 

"Surely  you  have  seen  that — and  you  from  Scotland? 
That 's  a  go  wan." 

"A  gowan!"  She  Avas  on  her  knees  beside  it  in  a  inomont. 
"  Is  it  the  real  gowan,  *  that  glints  on  bank  and  brae '  ?  No  ; 
I  never  saw  one ;  at  least  I  don't  remember.     I  was  only  a 


,•• 


210 


janet'b  lovk  and  sirvicl:. 


child  when  I  camo  away.  Oh  !  liow  OracmG  woultl  like  to 
see  thcin.  And  I  must  toll  Janet.  A  reid  gowan !  '  Wee, 
njodes^,  crinison-tqiped  flower' — you  mind?  And  hero  in  a 
white  one,  '  AVith  fsilver  crewt  and  golden  eye.'  Oh !  if 
(Iraenio  coiUd  only  see  them!  Give  me  just  one  for  iiiy 
sister  who  is  ill.  8he  has  gathered  them  on  the  braes  at 
homo." 

"  Ahem !  I  don't  know,"  said  her  friend,  in  a  changed  voice. 
"'I'liese  are  Miss  Elphinstone's  own  flowers.  I  wouldna 
just  liko  to  meddle  with  them.  But  you  can  ask  her  your- 
self." 

Kose  turned.  The  pretty  young  lady  of  the  pony-cfirri- 
age,  was  standing  beside  her.  Rose's  confiLsion  was  too 
deep  for  words.  She  felt  for  a  minute  as  though  she  must 
run  away,  but  thought  better  of  it,  and  murmured  something 
about  the  flowers  being  so  beautiful,  and  about  not  wishing 
to  intrude.  The  young  lady's  answer  was  to  stoop  down 
and  gather  a  handful  of  flowers,  gowans,  sweet  peas,  violets 
and  mignonette.  When  she  gave  them  into  Rose's  hand  she 
asked, 

"  Is  your  sister  very  ill  ?  I  have  seen  the  doctor  going 
often  to  your  house." 

"  She  is  getting  better  now.  She  has  been  very  ill.  The 
doctor  saj's  she  will  soon  be  well." 

"  And  have  you  taken  care  of  her  all  the  time  ?  Is  there  no 
one  else  ?" 

"  I  have  taken  care  of  her,  Nelly  Anderson  and  I,  all  the 
day,  and  our  brothers  are  home  at  night." 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  getting  better.  Is  she  fond  of  flowers. 
Mr.  Stirling  is  thinking  I  have  n't  aiTanged  mine  nicely,  but 
you  can  do  that  when  you  put  them  in  water,  you  know." 

"Oh!  thank  you.  They  are  beautiful.  Yes,  Graeme  is 
very  fond  of  flowers.  This  wiU  Lj  like  a  bit  of  summer  to 
her,  real  summer  in  the  country,  I  mean.  And  besides,  she 
has  gathered  gowans  on  the  braes  at  home." 

"  I  am  a  Canadian,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  I  never  saw 
the  •  gowany  braes,'  but  I  shaU  see  them  soon." 


1^  -  *^ 


•  '  -^*5r3St!!S3BSSS 


JANET'S    Lf)VE    AND    SERVICE. 


211 


V 


5 


They  had  roachccl  the  pfatc  by  this  time. 

•*  Como  again,  soon.  Come  into  th(!  garden,  wheuevor  you 
like.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Stu'ling  will  like  to  show  you  his 
flowers,  you  are  ho  fond  of  them.  I  thiuk  a  few  of  his 
would  improve  your  bouquet." 

Mr.  Stirling  touched  his  hat  to  liis  young  lady. 

"I  shall  be  proud  to  show  the  flowers  to  Miss  Rose,  and  I 
shall  have  the  honor  of  making  her  u  bouquet  soon."  The 
young  lady  laughed. 

"  You  are  to  be  a  favorite.  Is  your  name  Rose,"  added 
she,  lingering  by  the  gate. 

"  Yes,  Rose  EUiott.  I  am  the  youngest.  We  all  live  over 
there,  my  brothers,  and  Graeme  and  I.  It  would  be  a 
dreary  place,  if  it  were  not  for  the  glimpso  wo  get  of  your  gar- 
den. Look,  there  is  Nelly  looking  for  me.  I  am  afraid  I  have 
hindc'  :  1  Arthur.     Thank  you  very  much,  and  good-bye." 

Rose  shyly  put  forth  her  hand.  The  young  lady  took  it  in 
both  hers,  and  di'awiug  her  within  the  gate  again,  kissed  her 
softly,  and  let  her  go. 

"Stirling,"  said  she,  as  she  tm-ned  toward  the  house, 
"  how  did  you  know  the  young  lady's  name  is  Rose  ?  is  she 
a  friend  of  yours  ?  Do  you  know  her  ?'* 

"  I  know  her  face,  that  is  all.  I  have  seen  her  for  hours 
together,  looking  in  on  the  garden  from  that  upper  window. 
And  whiles  she  looks  through  the  gate.  I  heard  her  broth- 
ers calling  her  Rose.  She 's  a  bonny  lassie,  and  kens  a  flow- 
er when  she  sees  it." 

That  night,  Nelly  was  startled  into  a  momentary  forgetful- 
ness  of  her  thick  shoes,  and  her  good  manners,  and  came 
nishing  into  Graeme's  room,  where  they  were  all  sitting  after 
tea,  bearing  a  bouquet,  which  a  man,  "  maybe  a  gentleman," 
Nelly  seemed  in  doubt,  had  sent  in  with  his  compliments  to 
Miss  Rose  EUiott.  A  bouquet !  it  would  have  won  the  prize 
at  any  floral  exhibition  in  the  land,  and  never  after  that, 
while  the  autumn  fi'osts  spared  them,  were  they  without  flow- 
ers. Even  when  the  autumn  beauties  hung  shiivelled  and 
black  on  theu'  stems,  and  afterwards,  when  the  snows  of 


212 


.lANKT  rf   LOVE   AND   SEEVICP:. 


'■.I 


winter  lay  many  feet  above  the  pretty  garden  beds,  many  a 
rare  hot-house  l)lossom  brightened  the  Httle  parlor,  -where 
by  that  time  CJracuie  was  able  to  appear. 

"For,"  said  Mr.  Stirling,  to  the  admiring  Nelly,  "such 
were  Miss  Eljihinstone's  directions  before  she  went  away, 
and  besides,  directions  or  no  directions,  tlie  flowers  are  well 
bestowed  on  folk  that  take  real  pleasure  m  then'  beauty." 

The  autumn  and  -winter  passed  pleasantly  away.  As 
•Graeme  gi'ew  strong,  she  gxew  content.  The  cliildren 
were  well  and  happy,  and  Arthm''s  business  was  pros- 
pering in  a  wonderful  way,  and  all  anxiety  about  waj'S  and 
means,  might  be  put  aside  for  the  present.  Tlioy  often 
heard  from  Norman,  and  from  their  friends  in  Merleville, 
and  Graeme  felt  that  with  so  much  to  make  her  thankful  and 
happy,  it  would  be  ungrateful  indeed 'to  be  otherwise. 

In  the  spring,  they  removed  to  another  liouse.  It  was  in 
town,  but  compared  with  the  only  one  they  had  left,  it  seemed  to 
be  quite  in  the  countiy.  For  the  street  was  not  closely  built  up, 
and  it  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  little  garden,  which  soon  be- 
came beautiful  under  the  transforming  hands  of  Rose  and 
her  brothers.  There  was  a  green  field  behind  the  house  too, 
and  the  beautiful  mountam  was  plainly  visible  fi'om  it;  and 
half  an  hour's  walk  could  take  them  to  m(3re  than  one  place, 
where  thei'e  was  not  a  house  to  be  seen.  The  house  itself, 
seemed  hke  a  palace,  after  the  narrow  brick  one  the}-  had 
just  left.  It  was  larger  than  they  needed,  Graeme  thought, 
and  the  rent  was  higher  than  they  could  well  afford,  but  the 
garden  was  enough  to  content  them  with  everything  else. 
It  was  a  source  of  health,  if  not  of  wealth,  to  them  all,  and 
a  r  ever  failmg  source  of  delight  besides.  Their  new  home 
was  quite  away  fi'om  Mr.  Stirling's  end  of  town,  but  he  found 
tune  to  come  and  look  at  then*  garden  every  week  or  two,  and 
his. gifts  of  roots,  and  seeds,  and  good  advice  were  invalua- 
ble. 

This  was  a  short  and  pleasant  summer  to  them  all.     It' 
is  wonderful  how  mucili  pleasure  can  be  made   out  of  the 
quiet  everyday  duties  of  life,  by  young  and  happy  people  on 


t 


i*     / 


JAXET  S    L()VE    AND    8EKVICE. 


213 


the  watch  for  jilcasfiiit  tliinj^s.  To  Will,  and  Kosio  cvei^tliiiif^ 
was  deliglitfiil.  The  early  marketing  with  Nelly,  to  whicli 
Graeme  and  Arthiu',  and  sometimes  even  Harry  was  be- 
guiled, never  lost  its  charm  for  them.  I  Tarry  had  lived  in  town, 
long  enough,  to  permit  himself  to  be  a  little  scornful  of  the 
pleasiu'e  which  the  rest  took,  in  wandering  up  and  down 
among  the  vegetables  and  Ei'uits,  and  other  wares  in  the 
gi'cat  market,  and  made  himself  merry  over  Rosie's  penchant 
for  maldug  acquaintance  with  the  old  French  woman  and  lit- 
tle cliildren  whom  they  met.  He  mystified  Rose  and  her 
friends  by  his  free  mterpretation  of  both  French  and  English, 
and  made  the  rest  merry  too  ;  so  it  was  generally  considered 
a  great  tiling  when  ho  could  be  induced  to  rise  early  enough 
to  go  with  them. 

Sometimes  they  went  in  the  early  l)oats  to  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  a  pleasure  to  be  scorned  by  none  on  lovely  sum- 
mer mornings  ;  and  they  would  return  home  with  appetites 
ready  to  do  honor  to  the  efforts  of  Nelly  and  Jliss  Boecher. 
Sometimes  when  a  hohday  came,  it  was  spent  by  the  whole 
family,  Nelly  and  all,  at  Lachuie  or  the  Back  River,  or  on 
the  top  of  tlie  mountam.  All  this  may  seem  stupid  enough 
to  them  who  are  in  the  habit  of  searching  long,  and  going 
far  for  pleasure,  but  with  the  help  of  books  and  pencils,  and 
hvoly  conversation,  the  Elhotts  were  able  to  find  a  great  deal 
of  enjoyment  at  such  hohday  times. 

They  had  pleasures  of  another  kind,  too.  Ai'thur's  tempo 
rary  connection  with  one  of  the  city  newspapers,  placed  at 
their  disposal  magazines,  and  a  new  book  now  and  then,  as 
well  as  tickets  for  lectures  and  concerts,  and  there  was 
seldom  a  treat  of  the  kind  but  was  highly  enjoyed  by  one  or 
other  of  th(Mn. 

They  had  not  many  acquaintances  at  this  time.  In  Janet's 
esvimalion,  the  averseness  of  Graeme  to  bring  herself  in  con- 
tact with  strangers,  had  been  a  serious  defect  in  her  charac- 
ter. It  was  easier  to  avoid  this  in  the  town  than  it  used  to 
bo  in  the  country.  Graeme  found.  Besides,  she  had  no 
longer  the  sense  of  parish  responsibilities  as  a  minister's 


214 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


I 


m 

• 

II 

^  li 

5*1 

1 

1 

>  ■ 

L 

'■4^ 

claughtcr,  and  was  inclined  for  quietness.     Once  or  twice  she 
made  a  great  effort,  and  went  with  an  acquaintance  to  the 
"  sewing  meetings  "  of  the  ladies  of  the  chui-ch  which  they 
attended  ;  but  it  cost  her  a  gi'eat  deal  of  self-denial  to  vciy 
little  pui"posc  it  seemed  to  her,  and  so  she  compromised  the 
matter  with  her  conscience,  by  working  for,  and  being  very 
kind  indeed,  to  a  family  of  little  motherless  girls,  who  hved 
in  a  lane  near  their  house,  and  staid  at  home.     She  was  by 
no  moans  sure  that  she  did  right.     For  everybody  knows,  or 
ought  to  know,  how  j)raiseworthy  is  the  self-denial  which  is 
wilhng  to  give  up  an  afternoon  every  week,  or  every  second 
week,  to  the  maldng  of  pincushions,  and  the  netting  of 
tidies,  which  are  afterwards  to  appear  in  the  form  of  curtains 
or  pulpit  covers,  or  organs,  or  perhaps  in  the  form  of  gar- 
ments for  those  who  have  none.      But  then,   though  the 
"sewing-circle"  is    the  generally  approved  and  orthodox 
outlet  for  the  benevolent  fecluigs  and  efforts  of  those  dear 
ladies  who  love  to  do  good,  but  who  are  apt  to  be  bored  by 
motherless  httle  girls,  and  other  poor  people,  who  live  iu 
garrets,  and  out  of  the  way  places,  difficult  of  acct^is,  it  is 
just  possible  that  direct  efforts  in  their  behalf  may  be  accepted 
too.     One  thing  is  certain,  though  Graeme  did  not  find  it 
easy  for  awhile  to  satisfy  lierseK.  as  to  the  "  moral  quality  "  of 
the  motive  which  kept  her  at  home,  the  Uttle  Finlays  were  all 
the  happier  and  better  for  the  time  she  conscientiously 
bestowed  on  them  and  their  affairs. 

They  made  some  acquaintances  that  summer,  and  very 
pleasant  ones,  too. .  Arthur  used  sometimes  to  bring  home 
to  their  six  o'clock  dinner,  a  friend  or  two  of  his — chents 
from  the  counti-y,  or  a  yomig  law:yer,  or  lawyer's  clerk,  to 
whom  the  remembrance  of  his  own  first  lonely  days  in  the 
city  made  him  wish  to  show  kindness.  There  were  two  or 
three  gay  French  lads  of  the  latter  class  who,  strange  to  say, 
had  taken  a  great  liking  to  the  grave  and  steady  Arthur, 
and  who  often  came  to  pass  an  evening  at  his  pleasant  fire- 
side. Graeme  was  shy  of  them  for  awhile,  not  being  clear 
as  to  the  principles  and  practice  of  the  French  as  a  people, 


T."r'a 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


215 


very 
lome 
ients 
,  to 
tho 
o  or 
say, 
bur, 
fire- 
Icar 
>ple, 


and  as  for  Rose,  the  very  sight  of  these  polite  moiistachecl 
gentlemen  suggested  historical  names  and  events,  Avhicli  it 
was  not  at  all  comfortable  to  think  about.  But  these  light- 
hearted  Canadian  lads  soon  proved  themselves  to  be  as 
worthy  of  esteem  as  though  Enghsh  had  been  then*  mother 
tongue.  Very  agreeable  visitors  they  were,  with  their  nice 
gentlemanly  manners,  their  good  humor,  and  their  music ; 
and  far  better  subjects  for  the  exercise  of  Rosie's  French  than 
the  old  market  women  were,  and  in  a  little  while  they  never 
came  but  they  wero  kindly  welcomed. 

This  was  a  busy  time,  too.  Graeme  taught  Rosie  English, 
and  they  studied  together  French  and  German,  and  music  ; 
and  were  m  a  fair  way,  Harry  declared,  of  becoming  a  pair 
of  very  learned  ladies  indeed.  Very  busy  and  happy  ladies 
they  were,  which  was  a  matter  of  greater  importance.  And 
if  sometimes  it  came  into  Graeme's  mind,  that  the  life  they 
were  hving  was  too .  pleasant  to  last,  the  thought  did  not 
make  ber  unhappy,  but  humble  and  watchful,  lest  that 
which  was  pleasant  in  their  lot  should  make  them  forgetful 
of  life's  true  end. 


i 


,'• 


CIIAPTHR    XXI. 


k 


•  •  "T"T  is  just,  tliroo  yciir.s  to-iiif<lit  since  wo  camo  t()  M. 
I    Did  you  rcnionibor  it,  Arilmr  ?  *'  s.iid  (Irjioino,  looking 
up  from  her  work. 

"Is  it  poswl)lc  that  it  can  be  throe  years?"  said  Arthur, 
in  sm'[)rise. 

'*  It  has  boon  a  very  happy  time,"  said  (Iraeino. 

llosc  left  her  bo(5k  and  came  and  seated  herself  on  the 
arm  of  her  brother's  cliair.  vVrlhiu*  took  the  cigar  from  his 
lips,  and  gently  puflxnl  the  smoke  into  his  sister's  face.  Rose 
did  not  heed  it. 

"  Three  y{\irs !  "  reiieatod  she.  "  I  was  quite  a  child 
then." 

The  others  laughed,  but  Uoso  went  on  without  hooding. 

"  It  rained  that  night,  and  then  we  had  a  gi'oat  many  hot, 
dusty  days.  How  well  I  remember  the  time !  Crracmo  was 
ill  and  honiesick,  and  wo  wished  so  much  for  Janet." 

"  That  was  only  at  first,  till  you  proved  yourself  such  a 
wonderful  nurse  and  housekeeper,"  said  Graeme  ;  "  and  you 
were  not  at  all  homesick  yourself,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Perhaps  just  a  little  at  first,  in  tho.se  hot,  dreary  days," 
said  Rose,  gi'avely  ;  "but  I  was  not  homesick  very  long." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  were  a  good  many  droaiy  days  about 
that  time — more  than  you  let  me  know  about,"  said  Arthiu*. 

Graeme  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  had  a  good  many  anxious  days  about 
that  tin\e.  If  I  had  known  how  hard  you  would  have  to 
work,  I  think  I  would  have  staid  in  Merleville  after  all." 

"  Pooh !     Nonsense !     Hai'd  work  is  wholesome.     And  at 
(216) 


^-4^ 


JANKT  S    I,OVE    AND   BKRVICE. 


217 


tlio  very  wor.st  tiiiio,  what  with  one  thinp  and  unolhor,  wo 
had  u  hir;^'<'r  iiicoiiK!  tliaii  iny  fathor  had  in  Morlovilh;." 

"  J3ut  that  was  <iiiito  difTcront — " 

"  Did  I  tell  you  tliat  I  liavc  got  a  now  chont?  I  havo  dono 
business  for  Mr.  Stone  before,  l)ut  to-day  it  was  intimated  to 
me,  that  hiiiceforth  I  am  to  bo  the  legal  adviHcr  of  the  proa- 
jierous  firm  of  '  (Jrovc  &  Stone.'  It  will  add  something  to 
our  income,  little  woman." 

Rose  clappcMl  lier  hands,  and  stooping  down,  whispered 
something  in  her  brotlier's  ear. 

"  Don't  be  planning  any  extravagance,  you  two,  on  the 
strength  of  'Grove  &.  Stone.'  You  know  any  superfluous 
wealth  we  may  have,  is  already  appropriated,"  said  Graeme. 

"  To  the  ^Slerlevillc  visit.  But  this  is  not  at  all  an  extrava- 
gance, is  it,  Arthur  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  That  depends .     I  am  afraid  Graeme  is  the  best 

judge.  But  we  won't  tell  her  to-night.  Wo  must  break  tho 
matter  to  her  gently,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Graeme  is  so  dreadfully  prudent,"  sighed  Rose. 

Graeme  laughed. 

"  It  is  well  there  is  one  prudent  one  among  us." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  would  at  all  approve  of  your  smoking 
another  cigar,  for  instance.  They  arc  nicer  than  usual,  are 
they  not ?  "  said  Rose,  inhaling  the  fragrance  from  her  bio 
thcr's  case. 

"Yes.  I  treated  myself  to  a  few  of  the  very  best,  on  the 
strength  of  Grove  &  Stone.     They  are  very  nice.     Have  one  ?  " 

Rose  took  it  with  great  gravity. 

"Suppose  we  take  a  Httle  walk  first,  and  smoke  after- 
wards," said  she,  coaxingly. 

Arthur  made  a  grimace. 

"  And  where  will  you  beguile  me  to,  when  you  get  mo  fair- 
ly out?" 

•'  There  is  no  telUng,  indeed,"  said  Rose.  "  Graeme,  I  am 
going  to  put  on  my  new  hat.  When  Mr.  Elliott  honors  us 
with  his  company,  we  must  look  oui*  very  best,  you  know." 

lo' 


t 


218 


I 


JANKTfl    I.OVK    AM)   SKKVICE. 


il^ 


"But,  Ai'tliur,  you  have  an  onj^agcmcnt  toniglit.  Don't 
you  remember  ?  "  asked  CJraomo. 

"To  Mrs.  Banics',"  said  Rose.  "Miss  Crossly  brought 
homo  my  dress  to-day,  and  she  told  mo  all  about  it.  Her 
sister  is  nm'so  there.  Tho  party  is  to  bo  quite  a  splendid 
affair.  It  is  given  in  honor  of  Miss  Grove,  who  has  just  como 
home.     I  wish  I  ^^  ere  going  with  you." 

"  You  may  go  without  mo.  I  will  give  you  my  invitation. 
It  is  a  great  bore,  and  I  don't  behove  I  shall  go.  I  don't  seo 
the  good  of  it." 

"But  you  promised,"  said  (Jracnie. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  go  for  a  while.  But  it  is  very 
stupid." 

"  Just  as  if  you  could  make  us  believe  that.  It  must  be 
delightful.  I  tliink  it 's  \cry  stupid  of  you  and  Graeme,  not 
to  like  parties." 

"  You  forget.     I  was  not  asked,"  said  Graeme. 

"  But  you  might  have  been,  if  you  had  returned  Mri^.  Barnes' 
call  soon  enough.  How  nice  it  would  have  been !  I  wish  I 
were  Miss  Grove,  to  have  a  party  given  for  mo.  She  is  a 
beauty,  they  say.  You  must  notice  her  dress,  Ai'thur,  and 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Oh !  certainly,"  said  Arthur,  gravely.  "  I  '11  take  particu- 
lar notice.  But  come,  get  your  hats.  There  is  time  enough 
for  a  walk  before  I  go.  Haste,  Rosie,  before  the  finest  of  the 
evening  is  past.  Ai'e  you  coming,  AVill.  ?  Man !  you  shouldna 
read  by  that  light.  You  will  blind  yourself.  Put  away  your 
book,  you  '11  be  all  the  better  for  a  walk." 

They  lingered  a  moment  at  the  gate. 

"  Here  is  Harry !  "  exclaimed  Rose.  "  And  some  one  ^^•ith 
him.    Charhe  Millar,  I  think." 

"  We  will  wait  for  them,"  said  Ai-thur. 

The  look  that  came  to  Graeme's  face,  as  she  stood  watching 
her  brother's  coming,  told  that  tho  shadow  of  a  now  care  was 
brooding  over  her,  and  the  hght  talk  of  her  brother  and  sis- 
ter told  that  it  was  one  tliey  did  not  sec.     She  stood  back  a 


^ 


Ma 


JANLt's    love   and   SEIiVICIC. 


219 


littlo,  wliilc  tlioy  oxcliangcd  gi'cotinfjs,  and  looked  at  Harry 
Avith  anxiona  oycfi. 

"  Arc  you  going  out,  Graeme  ?  "  asked  ho,  coming  Avithin 
the  gate. 

"  Only  to  walk.     Will  you  go  with  us  ?     Or  shall  I  stay  ?  " 

"  IMiss  ElUott,"  interposed  Cliarlic  Millar,  "  I  beg  you  will 
not.  Ho  does  n't  desci-vo  it  at  your  hands.  Ho  is  as  cross 
as  possible.  Besides,  we  arc  going  to  D.  street,  by  invitation, 
to  meet  the  new  partner.  He  came  yesterday.  Did  Ilany 
tell  you?" 

"  Harry  did  not  come  home  last  night.  AVhat  kept  you, 
Harry  ?  "  asked  Hose. 

"We  were  kept  till  a  most  unreasonable  hour,  and  HaiTy 
staid  with  me  last  night,"  said  Charlie. 

*'  And  of  course  Graeme  staid  up  till  all  hours  of  the  night, 
waiting  for  me,"  said  Harry,  with  an  echo  of  impatience  in 
his  voice. 

"  Of  course  she  did  no  such  foolish  thing.  I  saw  to  that," 
said  Arthur.  "  But  which  is  it  to  be  ?  A  walk,  or  a  quiet 
visit  at  home  V  " 

"Oh!  a  walk,  by  all  means,"  said  Charlie  Millar. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  not  to  go,"  said  Harry. 

"  Nonsense,  man !  One  would  think  you  were  aboTit  to  re- 
ceive the  reward  of  your  evil  deeds.  I  refer  to  you,  Miss 
Elliott.  Would  it  be  respectful  to  the  new  fii-m,  if  he  were  to 
refuse  to  go  ?  " 

"  Bother  the  new  firm,"  said  Hari'y,  impatiently. 

"  The  new  partner,  you  mean.  He  has  taken  a  most  un- 
reasonable dislike  to  my  brother  at  first  sight — calls  him 
proud,  and  a  snob,  because  he  happens  to  be  shy  and  awk- 
ward with  strangers." 

"  Shy !  A  six-footer,  with  a  beard  enough  for  thi'ce.  After 
that  I  '11  vanish,"  said  Hany. 

"  I  don't  think  Harry  is  very  polite,"  said  Rose. 

"  Never  mind.  There  are  better  things  in  the  world  than 
politeness.  Ho  will  be  more  reasonable  by  and  by,"  said 
Harry's  friend. 


i]''i 


f 


220 


Janet's  love  and  skevice. 


"  So  your  brother  has  come,"  said  Graeme.  "  How  long  is 
it  since  you  have  seen  hun  ?  " 

"  Oh !  not  for  ten  years.  He  was  home  once  after  he  came 
out  here,  but  I  was  away  at  school,  and  did  not  see  him.  I 
remembered  him  quite  well,  however.  He  is  not  spoiled  by 
his  wandei-ings,  as  my  mother  used  to  fear  he  might  be  ; "  then 
he  added,  as  Harry  reappeared,  "  the  fact  is,  IMiss  Elliott, 
he  expected  to  be  asked  to  dinner.  We  must  overlook  his 
ill-temper." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Graeme,  laughing. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Harry.     "  And  I  '11  try  to  be  patient." 

"Well,  shall  wo  go  now?  "said  Ai-thur,  who  had  been 
waiting  patiently  through  it  aU.  The  others  followed  him 
and  Will. 

"  Is  your  brother  going  to  remain  here  ?  "  asked  Graeme. 
"  That  will  be  nice  for  you." 

*  Yes,  on  some  accounts  it  would  be  nice.  But  if  they  send 
Harry  off  to  fill  his  place  at  the  West,  I  shall  not  like  that, 
unless,  indeed,  they  send  us  both.  And  I  am  not  sure  I 
should  hke  that  long." 

*'  Send  Harry !  "  exclaimed  Graeme. 

"  Nonsense,  Graeme !  "  said  Han-y.  "  That  is  some  of 
Charlie's  stuff." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  we  '11  see,"  said  Charhe.  "  IVIiss  Elliott, 
I  had  a  letter  from  my  mother  to-day."  The  lad's  eyes  soft- 
ened, as  he  turned  them  on  Graeme. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  Graeme,  turning  away  from  her  own 
thoughts  to  interest  herself  in  liis  pleasure.    "  Is  she  quite  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  is  much  better  than  she  was,  and,  ]Miss  Elliott, 
she  sends  her  love  to  you,  and  her  best  thanks." 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  Graeme,  smiling. 

"  Oh !  you  know  quite  \vell  for  what.  What  should  I  have 
done,  if  it  had  not  been  for  you  and  Hany  ?  I  mean  if  you 
had  not  let  me  come  to  your  house  sometimes." 

"Stuff!"  said  Harry. 

"  Truth !"  said  Charlie.  "  I  never  shall  forget  the  misery 
of  my  first  months,  till  Harry  came  into  oiu-  office.     It  has 


JANET  8   LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


221 


been  quite  different  since  the  night  he  brought  mo  to  your 
house,  and  you  were  so  kind  as  to  ask  mo  to  come  again." 

**  That  was  no  great  self-denial  on  oui"  part," '  said  Graeme, 
smiling. 

"You  minded  Graeme  on  some  one  she  used  to  know  long 
ago,"  said  Rose.     *'  And,  besides,  you  are  from  Scotland." 

Both  lads  laughed. 

"  And  Graeme  feels  a  motherly  interest  in  all  Scottish  lad- 
dies, however  unworthy  they  may  be,"  said  Harry. 

And  so  they  rambled  on  about  many  things,  till  they  came 
to  the  gate  of  Mr.  Elphinstone's  garden,  beyond  which  Arthur 
and  Will,  were  loitering. 

"  How  pretty  the  garden  is ! "  said  Rose.  "  Look,  Graeme, 
at  that  httle  gni  in  the  window.  I  wonder  whether  the 
flowers  give  her  as  much  pleasure,  as  they  used  to  give  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  docs  not  get  so  many  of  them  as  you  used 
to  get,"  said  Graeme. 

"Come  in  and  let  me  gather  you  some,"  said  Charlie. 

"  No,  indeed.  I  should  not  venture.  Though  I  went  in 
the  first  time  without  an  invitation.  And  you  dare  not  pick 
]VIr.  Stirling's  flowers." 

"  Dare  I  not  ?  "  said  Charlie,  reaching  up  to  gather  a  large 
spray  from  a  climbing  rose,  that  reached  high  above  the  wall. 

"  Oh !  don't.     Oh !  thank  you,"  said  Rose. 

As  far  down  as  they  could  see  for  the  evergreens  and  horse- 
chestnuts  a  white  di'css  gleamed,  and  close  beside  the  little 
feet  that  peeped  out  beneath  it,  a  pair  of  shming  boots  crushed 
the  gi'avel. 

"  Look,"  said  Rose,  drawing  back. 

"  The  new  partner,"  said  Harry,  with  a  whistle.  "A  double 
partnership — eh,  Charlie  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Charlie,  looking  wise. 

*'  He  knows  what  he's  about,  that  brother  of  yours.  He's 
cute.     He  knows  a  thmg  or  two,  I  guess." 

"  Harry,"  said  Rose,  gi'avely,  "  don't  talk  slang.  And  I 
don't  think  it  very  polite  to  speak  that  way  to  ]\L.\  Millar 
about  his  brother." 


[ 


t ' 


r 


1^7^ 


222 


JANKTrt    LOVE   AND   SEUVICE. 


!  I 


*'  My  dear  Rosio,  I  am  not  talking  slan^^,  but  tho  puro 
American  language  ;  antl  I  think  you  are  move  considerate 
about  other  people's  brothers  than  you  are  of  your  owii. 
Twice  this  night  I  have  heard  y(jui*  brother  called  cross  and 
disagrc^eable,  without  rebuke." 

"  You  deserved  it,"  said  Rose,  laughing. 

"  Miss  Rose,"  said  Charlie,  "let  your  smile  beam  on  him 
for  one  moment,  and  ho  can't  look  cross  for  the  rest  of  tho 


cvenmg. 


Rose  turned  her  laughing  face  to  her  brother. 

"Be  a  good  boy,  Hariy.     Good  bye." 

As  they  returned,  "NVill.  and  Rose  went  on  before,  whilo 
Graeme  lingered  with  Ai'thur. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  Mr.  Millar  said  about  tho  possibility 
of  Harry's  being  sent  AVest  ?  It  must  bo  to  take  the  new 
partner's  place,  I  suppose,"  said  Graeme,  after  a  httle. 

"  No  ;  did  ho  say  so  ?  It  would  be  a  capital  good  tiling 
for  Harry." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?    He  would  have  to  leave  home." 

"  Yes ;  that  would  be  a  pity,  of  course  ;  but  the  opening 
for  him  would  be  a  very  good  one.  I  doubt  whether  there 
is  much  in  it,  however.  Harry  has  been  for  so  short  a 
time  in  the  employment  of  the  firm,  and  ho  is  very  young 
for  a  place  so  responsible.  Still,  it  may  be.  I  know  they 
have  great  confidence  in  him." 

There  was  a  i^ause,  and  they  walked  slowly  on. 

"  Ai'thur,"  said  Graeme,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Do  you  think 
Hany  is — quite  steady  ?  " 

"  Steady,"  repeated  Arthur,  in  a  surprised  and  shocked  tone. 
"  'Wliy  shoidd  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

Graeme  strove  to  speak  quietly,  but  her  hand  trembled  on 
her  brother's  arm,  and  he  knew  it  cost  her  an  effort. 

"  I  dare  say  there  is  no  cause  for  doubt.  Still,  I  thought  I 
ought  to  speak  to  you.  You  will  know  better  than  I ;  and, 
you  must  not  think  that  I  am  unkind  in  speaking  thus  about 
Harry." 

"  You  unkind !    No  ;  I  should  think  two  or  three  things 


P 


.TANEl'8    LOVi:    AND   SERVICE. 


223 


thought  that. 


But  tull  mo  why  you   have  any 


before  I 
fears?" 

"  You  know,  Arthiu',  Hurry  has  been  very  late  in  coniuifj 
home,  a  f^ood  many  times  lately;  and  sometimes  he  has 
not  come  at  all.  And  once  or  twice — more  indeed — he  has 
been  excited,  more  than  excited — and — " 

(iraemc  could  not  go  on. 

"  Htill,  Graeme,  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  real  cause  for 
apprehension.  He  is  young  and  full  of  spirit,  and  his  society 
is  sought  after — too  much  for  his  good,  I  daro  say.  But  he 
has  too  much  sense  to  give  us  any  real  cause  for  uneasiness 
on  that  ground.  Why,  Graeme,  in  P.  street  Harry  is  thought 
much  of  for  liis  sense  and  talent." 

Graeme  sighed.  There  came  into  her  mind  something 
that  her  father  had  once  said,  about  gallant  ships  being 
wrecked  at  last.     But  slie  did  not  speak. 

"  Shall  I  speak  to  liim,  Graeme  ?  What  would  you  like  mo 
to  do  ?     I  don't  think  there  is  much  to  fear  for  him." 

"  Well,  I  will  think  so,  too..  No  ;  don't  speak  to  him  yet. 
It  was  hearing  that  he  might  be  sent  away,  that  made  me 
speak  to-night.     I  dare  say  I  am  foolish." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little,  and  then  Graeme 
said, 

"  I  hope  it  is  only  that  I  am  foolish.  But  wo  have  been  so 
happy  lately  ;  and  I  mind,  papa  and  Janet  both  said  to  me — 
it  was  just  when  we  were  beginning  to  fear  for  Menie — that 
just  as  soon  as  people  were  beginning  to  settle  down  content, 
some  change  would  come.     It  proved  so  then." 

"Yes  ;  I  suppose  so,"  said  Ai'tlmr,  with  a  sigh.  "We  must 
expect  changes  ;  and  scarcely  any  change  would  be  for  the 
better  as  far  as  we  are  concerned.  But,  Graeme,  we  must 
not  allow  ourselves  to  become  fanciful.  And  I  am  quite  sui"e 
that  after  all  yoiu:  care  for  Harry,  and  for  us  all,  you  will  not 
have  to  suffer  on  his  account.     That  would  be  too  sad." 

They  said  no  more  tUl  they  overtook  the  children, — as  Eose 
and  Will,  were  still  called  in  this  happy  household. 

"  I  have  a  good  mind  not  to  go,  after  alL    I  would  much 


T 


22i 


JANKT  8    LOVE    AND   REUVICK. 


i  i  ! 

I  • 

'.J 
.i 


rather  stay  quietly  at  home,"  said  Arthur,  sitting  down  on  tho 
wtcpH. 

"But  you  proniiHod,"  Haid  (Jraenie.  "You  must  ^'o.  I 
will  j![et  a  light,  and  you  need  not  stay  lon;.^" 

"  You  nuiHt  go,  of  eour.se,"  said  Rose.  "  And  (Jraemo  and 
I  w  ill  have  a  nieo  (luiet  ov<niing.  I  am  going  to  praiitiso  the 
now  music  you  brought  home." 

"  A  (juiot  evcnuig,"  said  Will. 

•'  Yes  ;  I  have  rather  neglected  my  music  of  Into,  and 
other  things,  too.  I  'm  sure,  I  don't  know  where  the  tunc  goes 
to.     I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,  ArthiU".  ' 

"  You  arc  far  better  at  home." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Graeme  ;  and  Will,  added, 

«  A  chiM  hkc  Rosio !  " 

"  Well,  bo  sure  and  look  wcsll  at  all  tho  dresses,  especially 
Miss  Grove's,  and  toll  me  all  about  them." 

"Yes  ;  especially  Miss  Grove,  if  I  get  a  glimpso  of  her  in 
tho  crowd,  which  is  doubtful." 

"  Well,  good  night,"  said  Rose.  "  I  don't  bclicvo  there 
will  be  a  gentleman  there  to  compare  to  you." 

Arthur  bowed  low. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  there  will  bo  no  ono  there  to 
compare  with  you.  And  I  would,  if  I  could  conscientiously. 
But  '  fine  feathers  make  lino  birds,'  and  Miss  Grove  aspu'cs 
to  be  a  bello  it  seems, — and  many  who  don't  aspire  to  such 
ilistinction,  will,  with  tho  help  of  tho  di'ossmakcr,  eclipse  tho 
lltilo  Scottish  Rose  of  our  garden.  Good  night  to  you  all — 
and  Graeme,  mind  you  arc  not  to  sit  up  for  mo  past  your 
usual  time." 

He  went  awaj',  leaving  Rosc;  to  'ler  practising,  Will,  to  his 
books,  and  Graeme  to  pace  ut»  aud  down  the  gallery  in  the 
moonlight,  and  think  her  owni  tnoughts.  They  were  not  very 
sad  thoughts,  though  Arthur  feared  they  might  be.  Her 
brother's  astonishment  at  her  fears  for  Han-y,  had  done  much 
to  roassm'o  her  with  regard  to  him  ;  for  surely,  if  there  wore 
danger  for  Harry,  Arthur  would  see  it ;  and  she  began  to  be 
indignant  with  herself  for  having  spoken  at  all. 


i, 


JANKT'h    LOVK    and   8KUVI0K. 


225 


"  Arthur  will  think  I  am  foolisli.  Ho  will  think  that  I  havo 
loHt  c()nfi(l«>nro  in  Hiirrv,  which  is  not  inio.  I  wiHh  I  wcrn 
moro  hopofiil.  I  wish  I  did  not  tiiko  fri^'lit  at  thn  very  first 
Hhudow.  Jjiiu't  iiyo  said  that  tlio  firnt  ^doom  of  the  cloud 
trouhh'd  iiin  more  than  the  fallinjjf  of  tho  Khovvcr  hIiouKI  do. 
Such  folly  to  sn])])()Ko  tliat  anythinj^  could  happen  to  rrnr 
Harry  1  I  won't  think  al)out  it.  And  even  if  Harry  lias  to  ^'o 
away,  I  will  believe;  with  Arthur,  that  Avill  l)e  for  tho  b(!st.  Ho 
will  bo  near  Noi'inan,  at  any  rate,  and  that  will  bo  a  fjreat 
deal.  Norman  will  bo  fjlad.  And  I  will  not  fear  changes. 
Why  should  I  ?  They  cannot  como  to  us  ujisent.  I  will 
tmst  in  (^.od." 

•  But  quite  apart  from  the  thouf,'ht  of  Harry's  jcmptation  or 
prospects,  tlicro  was  in  Graeme's  heart  a  sense  of  pain.  She 
was  not  (piito  satisfied  in  lookin*,'  back  over  these  plca.sant 
years.  She  foarc^d  she  had  been  beginning?  to  settle  down 
content  with  their  pleasant  life,  forgetting  higher  things. 
Except  tho  thought  about  Harry,  which  had  come  and  gone, 
and  como  again  a  good  many  tunes  within  the  last  few 
months,  there  had  scarcely  been  a  trouble  in  their  life  during 
these  two  years  and  more.  She  had  almost  forgotten  how  it 
would  seem,  to  waken  each  morning  to  tho  knowledge  that 
painful,  self-denying  duties  lay  before  her.  Even  household 
care,  Nelly's  skill  and  will,  had  put  far  from  her. 

And  now  as  she  thought  about  all  of  this,  it  came  into  her 
mind  how  her  father  and  Janet  had  always  spoken  of  hfe  as 
a  warfare — a  struggle,  and  the  Bible  so  spoke  of  it,  too.  She 
thought  of  Janet's  long  years  of  self-denial,  her  toils,  her  dis- 
appointments ;  and  how  she  had  always  accepted  her  lot  as  no 
uncommon  one,  but  as  appointed  to  her  by  God.  She  thought 
of  her  father — ^liow,  oven  in  the  most  tranquil  times  of  his 
life — the  time  she  could  remembci  best,  the  peaceful  years  in 
Merleville,  he  had  given  himself  no  rest,  but  watched  for 
souls  as  one  who  must  give  account.  Yes,  hfe  was  a  warfare. 
Not  always  with  outward  foes.  The  struggle  need  not  be  ono 
that  a  looker-on  could  measure  or  see,  but  the  warfare  must 

be  maintained — the  struggle  must  only  cease  with  life. 
10* 


■ 


i  - 


It 


22C 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


had  been  so  with  her  father,  she  knew  ;  and  through  his  ex- 
perience, Graeme  caught  a  gUmpse  of  that  wonderful  paradox 
of  the  hfe  that  is  liid  with  Christ  in  God, — constant  warfare 
— and  peace  that  is  abichng  ;  and  could  the  true  peace  be  with- 
out the  warfare?  she  asked  herself.  And  what  was  awaiting 
them  after  all  these  tranquil  days  ? 

It  was  not  the  fear  that  tliis  might  be  the  lull  before  the  stonn 
that  pained  her,  so  much  as  the  doubt  whether  this  quiet 
time  had  been  turaed  to  the  best  account.  Had  she  been  to 
her  brothers  all  that  father  had  beheved  she  v/ould  be  ?  Had 
her  influence  always  been  decidedly  on  the  side  where  her 
father's  and  her  mother's  would  have  been  ?  They  had  been 
very  happy  together,  but  were  her  brothers  really  better  and 
stronger  Christian  men,  because  of  her  ?  And  if,  as  she  had 
sometimes  feared,  Hai*ry  were  to  go  astray,  could  she  be  alto- 
gether free  from  blame  ? 

The  friends  that  had  gathered  around  them  dm*ing  these 
years,  were  not  just  the  kind  of  friends  they  would  have 
made,  had  her  father  instead  of  her  brother  been  at  the  head 
of  the  household  ;  and  the  remembrance  of  the  pleasure  they 
had  taken  in  the  society  of  some  who  did  not  think  as  their 
father  had  done  on  the  most  important  of  all  matters,  came 
back  to  her  now  like  a  sin.  And  yet  if  this  had  worked  for 
evil  among  them,  it  was  indirectly  ;  for  it  was  the  influence 
of  no  one  whom  they  called  theu'  friend  that  she  feared  for 
Hany.     She  always  came  back  to  Harry  in  her  thoughts. 

"  But  I  will  not  fear  for  him,"  she  repeated  often.  "  I  will 
trust  God's  care  for  Harry  and  us  all.  Surely  I  need  not  fear. 
I  think  I  have  been  beginning  at  the  wrong  end  of  my  tangled 
thoughts  io-night.  Outward  circmnstances  cannot  make 
much  diflference,  rurely.  If  we  are  humble  and  trustful  God 
will  guide  us." 

And  busy  still  with  thoughts  from  which  renewed  trust 
had  taken  the  sting,  Graeme  sat  still  m  the  moonlight,  till 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  recalled  her  to  the  pres- 
ent. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


THE  sliining  boots  crushed  the  gravel,  and  the  white 
dress  gleamed  tlirough  the  darkness,  some  time  after 
the  joung  men  were  seated  in  IVIr.  Elphinstone*s  handsome 
di'awiDg-room.  The  master  of  the  mansion  sat  alone  when 
they  entered,  gazuag  into  a  small,  bright  coal  fire,  which, 
though  it  was  not  much  past  midsummer,  burned  in  the 
grate.  For  Mr.  Elphinstone  was  an  invahd,  with  little  hope 
of  being  other  than  an  invahd  all  his  life,  though  he  was  by 
no  means  an  old  man  vet. 

If  he  hud  been  expecting  visitors,  he  had  forgotten  it,  for 
they  had  come  quite  close  to  him  before  he  looked  up,  and 
he  quite  started  at  the  sound  of  Mr.  iMillar's  voice.  He  rose 
and  received  them  courteously  and  kindly,  however.  IVIr. 
Elphinstone  in  his  own  drawmg-room  was  a  different  person, 
or  rather,  he  showed  a  different  manner  from  Mr.  Elphinstone 
in  his  coimting-room  in  uitercourse  with  his  clerks,  and  Harry, 
who  had  had  none  but  business  intercourse  with  him,  was 
struck  with  the  difference.  It  reqiiired  an  effort  for  him  to 
realize  that  the  bland,  gentle  voice  was  the  same  that  he  had 
80  often  heard  in  brief  and  prompt  command. 

Business  was  to  bo  ignored  tonight,  however.  Then*  talk 
was  of  quito  other  matters.  There  war  an  allusion  to  the 
new  partnership,  and  to  Mr.  I.Tillar's  1  'i  brother,  the  new 
partner,  who  at  the  moment,  as  they  all  knew,  was  passing 
along  the  garden  walk  with  a  httle  white  hand  on  his  coat- 
sleeve.  This  was  not  alluded  to,  however,  though  each 
thought  liis  own  thoughts  about  it,  in  the  midst  of  their  talk. 
That  those  of  Mr.  Elphinstone  were  rather  agi-eeable  to  him- 

(227) 


u 


\ 


■<   -  I' 


m 


00  Q 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


self,  the  lads  could  plainly  see.  Ho  had  no  son,  and  that  his 
partner  and  nephew  should  fall  into  a  son's  place  was  an 
idea  that  pleased  liim  well.  Indeed,  it  had  cost  him  some 
self-denial  to-night  not  to  intimate  as  much  to  him  after  the 
pretty  Lilias  had  withdrawn,  and  the  smile  that  Harry  was 
stealthily  watching  on  his  face,  was  called  up  by  tl;  j  remem- 
brance of  the  admiration  whicli  his  ..Innghter  had  t  vidontly 
called  forth.  Harry  watched  the  smile,  and  iu  his  heart 
called  the  new  partner  "  lucky,"  and  "  cute,"  and  looked  at 
Charlie's  discontented  face  with  a  comic  astonishment  that 
would  have  excited  some  grave  astonishment  to  their  host, 
if  by  any  chance  he  had  looked  up  to  see.  Tliough  why 
Charlie  should  look  discontented  about  it,  Harry  could  not 
well  see. 

They  talked  about  indiflfcrent  matters  with  a  little  effort 
till  the  white  dress  gleamed  in  the  firehght,  and  a  soft  voice 
said — 

"What,  still  in  the  dark,  papa!" 

The  lights  came  in,  and  Harry  was  introduced  to  Miss  El- 
phinstone.  He  had  shared  Rosie's  interest  in  the  lady  of  the 
pony  carriage,  long  ago,  and  had  sometimes  seen  and  spoken 
with  her  in  >the  garden  in  those  days,  but  he  had  not  seen 
her  since  her  return  £i*om  Scotland,  where  her  last  three  years 
had  been  spent.  A  very  sweet-looking  and  graceful  little 
lady  she  was,  tliough  a  httle  silent  and  shy  at  first,  jjerhaps 
in  sympathy,  Harry  thought,  with  the  tall,  bearded  gentleman 
who  had  come  in  with  her. 

It  was  evidently  Harry's  interest  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
the  new  partner,  and  common  politeness  might  have  sug- 
gested the  propriety  of  some  appearance  of  interest  in  him 
and  his  conversation.  But  ho  turned  his  back  upon  the 
group  by  the  fire,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  entertainment 
of  their  young  hostess  who  was  by  this  tunc  busy  with  her 
tea-cups  in  another  part  of  the  room.  There  was  some  talk 
about  the  weather  and  the  voyage  and  sea-sickness,  and  in 
the  first  little  pause  that  came,  the  young  lady  looked  up  and 
said, 


I, 


i 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


229 


"You  don't  live  in  the  house  opposite  now,  I  think." 

It  was  the  first  voluntary  remark  she  had  made,  and  thank- 
ful for  a  new  opening,  Harry  said, 

"  Xo  ;  my  sisters  were  never  quite  contented  there.  Wo 
left  it  as  soon  as  possible  ;  and  we  are  quite  at  the  other  end 
of  the  town  now." 

"And  is  your  little  sister  as  fond  of  flowers  as  ever?" 

"Rose?  Oh,  yes!  She  has  a  garden  of  her  own  now, 
and  aspires  to  rival  the  pansies  and  verbenas  of  Mr.  Stirling, 
even." 

IVIiss  Elphmstone  smiled  brightly. 

"  I  remember  the  first  time  she  came  into  the  garden." 

"  Yes,  that  was  a  bright  day  in  Rosie's  life.  She  has  the 
gowans  you  gave  her  still.  The  garden  was  a  great  resource 
to  her  in  those  days." 

"  Yes  ;  so  she  said.  I  was  very  glad.  I  never  gathered 
gowans  among  the  hills  at  home,  but  I  seemed  to  see  that 
pretty  shy  face  looking  up  at  mo." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hany,  meditatively,"  Rose  was  a  very  pretty 
child." 

Mr.  Millar  had  di'awn  near  by  this  time.  Indeed,  the  other 
gentlemen  were  hstcning  toOj  and  when  Miss  Elphmstone 
looked  up  it  was  to  meet  a  very  wondering  look  from  the  new 
partner. 

"  By  the  by,  Mr.  Elliott,"  said  her  ffithcr,  breaking  rather 
suddenly  into  the  conversation,  "  whom  did  your  elder  brother 
marry  ?" 

'•  MiuTy !''  repeated  Charles. 

"  He  is  not  married,"  said  Harry. 

"No?  Well  ho  is  to  be,  I  suppose.  I  saw  him  walking 
the  otliL-r  day  with  a  young  lady.  Indeed,  I  have  often  seen 
them  togetuoi",  and  I  thought — '' 

"It  was  my  sister,  I  presume,"  said  HaiTj'. 

"  Perhaps  so.  She  was  rather  tall,  with  a  pale,  grave  face 
— but  pretty — (juito  beautiful  indeed.'' 

"  It  was  Graeme,  I  daresay.  I  don't  know  whether  other 
people  think  her  beautiful  or  not." 


^r 


1 


230 


JANi:'!  S    LOVi:    AXD    SKKVICK. 


Hariy  did  not  say  it,  but  ho  was  thinking  that  his  sister 
scciucd  l)cautifiil  to  thcni  all  at  homo,  and  his  dark  eyes  took 
the  tender  look  of  (Iraenie's  own  as  lie  thought.  It  vanished 
quiekly  as  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  ho 
turned  to  meet  the  look  of  the  new  partner. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  are  the  HaiTj'  Elliott  that  sailed 
with  nu;  in  the  '  Stea<lfast,'  ten  years  ago." 

"Yes,  I  am  Harry  Elliott,  and  I  crossed  the  sea  in  the 
*  Steadfast'  ten  jears  ago.  I  knew  yon  at  the  first  glanec,  IVIr. 
Ruthven." 

"I  never  should  have  known  you  in  the  least,"  said  IVIi'. 
Ruthven.  "  Why,  you  were  quite  a  little  fellow,  and  now  you 
can  nearly  look  down  on  me." 

"I  never  i\")ut^ht  of  that,"  said  Hairy,  looking  foolish. 

"And  yo\  .>ht  the  new  partner  fancied  himself  too 

big  a  man  to  kn»  ^  on,"  said  Charlie.  "  And  that 's  the  rea- 
son you  took  lunbriigc  at  him,  and  told  yoiu*  sister  he  was — 
ahem,  Harry  ?" 

Miss  Elphinstone'a  laugh  recaUetl  Charlie  to  a  sense  of 
propriety,  and  Harrj  look(!d  nn^re  foolLsh  than  ever.  But 
Mr.    Ruthven   did    not   seem    to    notice   what    they   were 


saymg. 


"  I  never  suoiud  have  known  you.  I  see  yoiu*  father's  look 
in  you  now — and  you  have  your  elder  sister's  eyes.  Why  did 
you  not  write  to  me  as  you  promised?" 

"  Wo  did  write  —  Norman  and  I  both,  and  afterv/ards 
Graeme.     We  nevei  heard  a  word  from  vou." 

"Y^ou  forget,  it  was  not  decided  where  you  were  to  settle 
when  I  left  you.  You  promised  to  write  and  tell  me.  I 
wrote  several  times  to  yom*  father's  fi'iend  in  C — ,  but  I  never 
heard  from  him." 

"  He  tlied  soon  after  we  arrived,"  said  Harry. 

"  And  afterward  I  heard  of  a  Rev.  Mr.  Elliott  in  the  west- 
ern part  of  New  York,  and  went  a  day's  jonmey  thinking  I 
had  found  you  all  at  last.  But  I  found  this  ^Ir.  Elhott  was 
a  very  young  man,  an  EngUshman — a  line  fellow,  too.  But 
I  was  gi-eatly  disappointed." 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AND   SERVKli:. 


231 


I  settle 

10.      I 

incvcr 

west- 
ang  I 
It  was 
But 


Harrj's  cyos  ^'cw  to  loolc  more  like  Graeme's  than  ever, 
as  they  mot  Allan's  downward  gaze. 

"I  can't  toll  you  how  many  Mr.  Elliotts  I  have  wiitton  to, 
and  then  I  lioard  of  your  fatlior's  death,  Ham',  and  that  your 
sisters  had  <^<m()  lionic  again  to  Sc^otland.  I  gave  up  all  hope 
then,  till  last  winter,  when  I  heard  of  a  young  Elliott,  an  en- 
gineer— Norman,  tf>o — and  when  I  went  in  search  of  him,  ho 
was  away  from  home  ;  then  I  went  another  fifty  miles  to  bo 
disappointed  .again.  Thoy  told  mo  he  had  a  sister  in  a  school 
at  C — ,  but  Rose  never  could  have  gro^^^l  into  the  fair,  bluo 
eyed  little  lady  I  found  there,  and  I  knew  it  could  not  bo 
either  of  the  others,  so  I  only  said  I  was  sorry  not  to  sec  her 
brother,  and  went  away."* 

Hany  listened  eagerly. 

"  I  daresay  it  was  our  Norman,  and  the  little  girl  you  saw 
was  his  adopted  sister,  Hilda.  If  Norman  had  only  known" — 
said  Harry.  And  then  ho  went  on  to  toll  of  how  Norman 
had  saved  tho  little  girl  from  the  burning  boat,  and  how  he 
had  cared  for  her  since.  IJy  and  by  they  spoke  of  other 
things  and  had  some  music,  but  tho  now  partner  said  little, 
and  when  it  was  time  for  the  young  men  to  go,  he  said  he 
would  walk  down  the  street  with  them. 

"So,  Charhe,  you  have  found  the  friends  who  were  so 
kind  to  me  long  ago,"  said  lus  brother,  as  they  shut  tho 
gate. 

"Yes,"  said  Charhe,  eagerly,  "I  don't  know  how  I  should 
have  lived  in  this  strange  Lmd  without  them.  It  has  been  a 
different  place  to  me  suice  Harry  came  to  our  office,  and  took 
me  home  with  him." 

"  And  I  suppose  I  am  quite  forgotten." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!"  said  Harry,  and  Charlie  added — 

"Don't  you  mind,  Harry,  your  sister  Rose  said  to-night 
that  I  reminded  Miss  Elliott  of  some  one  she  know  long  ago. 
It  was  Allan,  I  daresay,  she  meant.  My  mother  used  to  say 
I  looked  as  Allan  did  when  ho  went  awa}'." 

They  did  not  speak  again  tiU  thoy  came  near  the  house. 
Then  Charhe  saidrf 


|ft 


i  i1 


iil 


iJ 


■■  >!■ ,  • 


./ 


'1: 


232 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


I    ^■ 


"  It  is  not  very  late,  Hany.  I  wonder  whether  they  are 
up  yet.     There  is  a  light." 

"Allan,"  said  Harry,  lingering  behind,  "Marian  died  be- 
fore my  father.     Don't  speak  of  her  to  Graeme." 

(Iraeme  was  still  sitting  on  the  steps. 

"  Miss  Elliott,"  whispered  Charhe,  eagerly,  "  who  is  the  new 
partner,  do  you  think  ?  Did  I  ever  tell  you  my  half-brother's 
name  ?     It  is  Allan  Ruthven." 

Graeme  gave  neither  start  nor  cry,  but  she  came  forward 
holding  out  her  hands  to  the  tall  figure  who  came  forward 
with  an  arm  thrown  over  Harry's  shoulder.  They  were 
clasped  in  his. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come.  I  was  quite  sure  that  some 
time  we  should  see  you  again,"  said  Graeme,  after  a  little. 

"And  I — I  had  quite  lost  hope  of  ever  finding  you,"  said 
Allan.  "  I  wonder  if  you  have  missed  me  as  I  have  missed 
you?" 

"  "We  have  been  very  happy  together  smce  we  parted  from 
you,"  said  •  Irajine,  "and  veiy  soiTowful,  too.  But  we  never 
forgot  you,  either  in  joy  or  son'ow ;  and  I  was  always  sure 
thc-t  we  should  see  you  again." 

They  went  into  the  house  together.  Rose,  roused  from 
the  sleep  into  which  she  had  fallen,  stood  very  much 
amazed  beneath  the  chandeher. 

"  You  '11  never  tell  me  that  my  wee  white  Rose  has  grown 
into  a  flower  like  this  ?"  said  Allan. 

It  was  a  bold  thuig  for  him  to  do,  seeing  that  Rose  was 
nearly  as  tall  as  her  sister  ;  but  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  "  cheek  and  chin  "  as  he  had  done  that  misty 
morning  on  the  deck  of  the  "  Steadfast "  so  many  years  ago. 

"  Rose,"  said  Graeme,  "  it  is  Allan  — AUan  Ruthven.  Don't 
you  remember.       I  was  always   sure  we  should  see   him 


again. 


They  were  very,  veiy  glad,  but  they  did  not  say  so  to  one 
''\.other  in  many  words.  The  names  of  the  dead  were  on 
their  hps,  making  then'  voices  trembling  and  uncertain. 

"  Arthiu',"  said  Rose,  as  they  were  alj  sitting  together  a 


♦  I 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


233 


ago. 


day  or  two  after,  "  yon  have  forgotten  to  tell  us  about  the 
party." 

"You  have  forgotten  to  ask  me,  you  mean.  Yoa  have 
been  so  taken  up  with  your  new  hero  that  I  have  had  few 
of  your  thoughts." 

Mr.  Ruthven  smiled  at  Rose  from  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"  AVcll,  tell  us  about  it  now,"  said  she.  "  You  must  have 
enjoyed  it  belter  than  yoti  expected,  for  more  than  one  of 
the  '  small  hours  '  had  struck  before  you  came  home." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  enjoyed  it  very  well.  I  met  yoimg  Storey,  who 
has  just  returned  from  Europe.  I  enjoyed  liis  talk  very 
much.  And  then  i\Irs.  Gridley  took  mo  under  her  protec- 
tion.    She  is  a  clever  woman,  and  handsome,  too." 

"  Handsome  !"  echoed  Rose.  "  Why  she  is  an  old  woman, 
with  gTown-up  daughters.  And  if  you  were  to  see  her  by 
dayhght !" 

They  all  laughed. 

"  Well,  that  might  make  a  difference.  But  she  says  veiy 
clever,  or  maybe  very  sharp  things  al  jut  her  neighbors,  and 
the  time  passed  quickly  till  supper.  It  was  rather  late  but  I 
could  not  leave  before  supper — the  event  of  the  evening." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Hany. 

"Well,  we  won't  ask  about  the  supper,  lest  it  might 
make  Hany  discontented  with  his  own.  And  what  happened 
after  supper  ?" 

"  Oh  !  after  supper  Mr.  Grove  and  his  fiiend  Barnes  began 
to  discuss  the  harbor  question,  and  I  very  foolishly  allowed 
myself  to  be  drawn  into  the  discussion.  Mr.  Green  was 
there,  the  gi'cat  western  merchant.  He  is  a  long-headed  fel- 
low that.     You  must  know  liim,  Mr.  Rathven." 

"  I  know  him  well.  He  is  a  remarkably  clever  business- 
man, and  a  good  fellow  ;  though,  I  suppose,  few  know  it  so 
well  as  I  do.  I  had  a  long  illness  in  C.  once,  and  he  nursed 
me  as  if  I  had  been  a  brother.  I  might  have  known  him  for 
years  in  the  way  of  business,  without  discovering  his  many 
excellent  qualities.  He  has  the  name  of  being  rather  hard 
in  the  way  of  business,  I  believe '?" 


! 


i 


-1  '  ;i*i- 


2.'M 


JAXKTS    LoVK    AND   SKRVICK. 


i     • 


fl,    !■ 


"Ho  has  a  clear  head  of  his  own,"  said  Arthur,  "I  en- 
joyed a  tallc  with  hiiii  very  much.  He  intends  visiting 
Europe,  ho  tells  me." 

"  Well,  w  hat  next  ?"  said  Rose,  to  whom  Mr.  Green  and 
his  f^ood  (qualities  were  matters  of  indifference. 

"  Then  I  came  home.  Mr.  Green  walked  down  the  street 
with  me." 

"  And  did  n't  you  see  Miss  Grove,  the  belle  of  the  even- 
ing !"  exclaimed  Rose. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  had  the  honor  of  an  introduction  to  her.  She 
is  a  pretty  little  thing." 

"  Pretty  !  Is  that  all  you  can  say  for  the  belle  ?  How 
does  she  look  ?  Is  she  fail*  or  dark  ?  What  color  are  her 
eyes  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  She  would  be  called  fair,  I  think.  I 
can't  say  about  her  eyes.  She  has  a  very  pretty  hand  and 
ann,  and — is  aware  of  it." 

"  Don't  be  censorious,  Arthur  ?  Docs  she  wear  cuiis  ? 
And  what  did  she  say  to  you  ?" 

"  Curls !  I  cannot  say.  I  have  the  impression  of  a  quan- 
tity of  hail',  not  in  the  best  order,  toward  the  end  of  the  even- 
ing. She  seemed  to  be  dancing  most  of  the  time,  and  she 
dances  beautifully."' 

"  But  she  surely  said  something  to  you.  What  did  you 
talk  about  ?"  demanded  Rose,  impatiently. 

"  She  told  that  if  she  were  to  dance  all  the  dances  for 
■which  she  was  engaged,  she  would  n't  '  get  homo  till  mom- 


mg. 


"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  asked  her  to  dance  ?" 
"  Oh,  no !     She  volunteered  the  information.     I  could  have 
waited  so  long  as  to  have  the  honor." 

"  And,  of  coiu'se,  you  can't  tell  a  word  about  her  dress  ?" 
"  I  beg  yom*  pai'don,"  said  Arthur,  searching  his  pocket. 
"  It  must  be  in  my  other  vest.     I  asked  Mrs.  Gridley  what 
the  young  lady's  dress  was  made  of,  and  put  it  down  for 
your  satisfaction.     Rosie,  I  hope,  I  have  n't  lost  it." 

"  Arthur !   what  nonsense !' '  said  Graeme,  laughing.     "  I 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND   SEllVICK. 


235 


I  cn- 


am  snre  IVIrs.  Gridloy  was  laughing  in  her  sleeve  at  you  all 
the  time." 

"  She  had  n't  any  sleeve  to  laugh  in.  But  Avhcn  I  toltl 
her  that  I  was  doing  it  for  the  benefit  of  my  little  sister 
Kosie,  she  smiled  in  her  superior  way. 

"  I  think  I  see  her,"  said  Rosio,  indignantly.  "  But  Avhat 
was  her  dress,  after  all  ?     Was  it  silk  or  satin  ?" 

"  No,  nothing  so  commonplace  as  that.  I  could  have  re- 
membered silk  or  satin.     It  was " 

"Was  it  lace,  or  gauze,  or  crape  ?"  suggested  Rose." 

"  Or  tarltau  or  muslin  ?"  said  Graeme,  much  amused. 

"  Or  damask,  or  velvet,  or  cloth  of  gold,  or  linsey-woolsey  ?" 
said  Harry. 

Arthur  assumed  an  air  of  bcNVTlderment. 

"  It  was  gau/.e  or  crape,  I  tliink.  No  ;  it  had  a  name  of 
three  syllables  at  least.  It  was  white  or  blue,  or  both.  But 
I  '11  write  a  note  to  IMrs.  Gridley,  shall  I  Rosic  ?" 

'*  It  would  be  a  good  plan.  I  wonder  w  hat  is  the  use  of 
your  going  to  parties  ?" 

"  So  do  I,  mdecd,"  said  her  brother.  "  I  am  quite  m  the 
dark  on  the  subject.  But  I  was  told  in  confidence  that  there 
are  cards  to  be  issued  for  a  great  entei-tainment  in  Grove 
House,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  my  '  accomplished 
sisters ' — as  IVIrs.  Gridley  in  her  fiiondly  way  calls  them — 
were  to  be  visited  in  due  form  by  the  lady  of  the  Grove  pre- 
paratory to  an  invitation  to  the  same.  So  be  in  readiness. 
I  think  I  should  write  the  note  to  ]Mrs.  Gridley,  Rosic  ;  you  '11 
need  a  hint." 

Graeme  laughed,  while  Rose  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  the  call  or  the  in\itatiou,"  said 
Graeme. 

But  they  came  —  first  the  call,  which  v/as  duly  returned, 
and  then  the  invitation.  That  was  quite  informal.  jMrs. 
Grove  would  be  happy  if  Miss  ElUott  and  her  sister  would 
spend  the  evening  at  her  house  to  meet  a  few  friends.  To 
their  surprise,  Harry,  as  well  as  Arthur,  came  home  witli  a 
little  pink  note  to  the  same  effect. 


I 


i 


23G 


JANET  3   LOVE   AND    8KUVICK. 


{ 


Co 


"  I  did  n't  know  that  you  knew  the  Groves,  Harry,"  said 
Arthur. 

*'  Oh,  yea,  I  know  IMr.  Grove  in  a  f(fnor.il  way  ;  but  I  am 
invited  through  a  niistalre.  However,  I  shall  go  all  the  same. 
I  am  not  responsible  for  other  people's  mistakes.  Nothing 
can  be  plainer  flian  that." 

"A  mistake  !"  repeated  several  voices. 

"  Yes ;  IMrs.  Grove  thinks  I  am  a  rising  man,  hke  the 
squire  here  ;  and  why  undeceive  her  ?  I  shall  add  to  the 
brilhancy  of  her  party,  and  enjoy  it  mightily  myself.  Why 
undeceive  her,  I  ask '?" 

"  Don't  be  nonsensical,  Harrv,"  said  Rose. 

"  How  came  Mrs.  Grove  to  make  such  an  absurd  mistake?" 
Raid  Arthur,  langhmg. 

"  She's  cute,  I  know ;  still  it  was  not  suiprising  in  the 
cu'cumstances.  I  met  her  on  the  street  yesterday,  and  I  saw 
the  invitation  in  her  eyes  as  plainly  as  I  see  this  httle  pink 
concern  now  ;"  and  he  tossed  the  note  to  Rose.  "  I  think  I 
should  send  the  acceptance  to  Miss  Elphinstone.  It  was  she 
who  obtained  the  invitation  for  me." 

"  Miss  Elphinstone !" 

"Yes,  or  Jack,  or  both,  I  should  perhaps  say.  For  if 
Jack  had  been  at  his  post,  I  should  not  have  been  politely 
requested  to  call  a  carnage  for  Miss  Eli^hinstone,  and  jVIi's. 
Grove  would  not  have  seen  me  escorting  her  down  the  street 
as  she  sat  in  her  caniage  at  Alexander's  door.  I  Imow  she 
was  thinking  I  was  very  bold  to  be  walking  on  N.  Street  with 
my  master's  daughter.  Of  course  she  did  n't  know  that  I 
was  doing  the  work  of  that  rascal  Jack.  And  so  I  am  going 
to  the  Grove  party,  unless,  indeed,  there  is  any  objection  to 
om*  going  en  masse.     Eh,  Graeme  ?" 

"  It  is  not  a  party,  only  a  few  fiiends,"  said  Rose,  eagerly. 

"  Certainly,  we  '11  all  go,"  said  Arthur.  "If  they  had  not 
wanted  us  all,  they  would  not  have  asked  us.  Of  course, 
we  '11  all  go  for  once." 

"  But,  Graeme,"  said  Harry,  coming  back  after  he  had  left 
to  go  away,  "  don't  let  the  idea  of  *  a  few  friends'  delude 


JANETS   LOVE  AND   SEKVICE. 


237 


you.  Make  yoiirsolvos  as  fine  as  possible.  There  will  bo  a 
great  crowd  you  may  be  sure.  Miss  Elphin.stone  and  Mr. 
Rutlivcn  arc  invited,  and  they  are  not  amonj,'  the  intimate 
friends  of  such  people  as  the  (Jlrovcs.  Shall  I  send  you 
home  a  fashion  book,  Rosic  ?" 

"  Or  write  a  note  to  i\Irs.  Gridlev,"  said  Arthur. 

Rose  laughed.  She  was  pleasantly  excited  at  the  prospect 
of  her  first  large  party,  there  was  no  denying  it.  Indeed, 
she  did  not  seek  to  deny  it,  but  talked  merrily  on,  not  seeing, 
or  not  seeming  to  see,  the  doubtful  look  on  Graeme's  face. 
She  alone,  had  not  spoken  during  the  discussion.  She  had 
not  quite  decided  whether  this  invitation  was  so  delightful 
as  Rosie  thought,  and  in  a  little  when  her  sister  had  left  tho 
room,  she  said — 

"  Shall  I  accept  the  invitation  then  for  Rose  and  mo  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  accepted  yet  ?  you  need  not  of  course,  un- 
less you  wish      But  I  think  3'ou  will  enjoy  it,  and  Rosie,  too." 

"Yes,  but  I  am  by  no  means  siu-e,  that  I  hke IVIi's.  Grove," 
said  she,  hesitating. 

"Are  you  not?"  said  her  brother,  laughing.  "Well,  I 
have  got  much  farther  than  you.  I  am  sure  that  I  don't  like 
her  at  all.    But,  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Only  that  I  don't  fancy  accepting  kindness,  fi*om  a  per- 
son I  don't  like,  and  to  whom  I  don't  think  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  repay  in  kind." 

"Oh!  nonsense.  The  obligation  is  mutual.  Her  kind- 
ness will  be  quite  repaid,  by  having  a  new  face  in  her  splendid 
rooms.  And  as  for  rejiaying  her  in  kind,  as  you  call  it,  that 
is  quite  out  of  the  question.  There  are  not  a  dozen  peojDle 
in  to^NTi  who  do  the  thing  on  the  scale  the  Groves  at- 
tempt.    And  besides,  Rosie  would  be  disaj^pointed." 

Graeme  did  not  believe  that  it  was  the  best  thir,:,  ^^lat 
could  happen  to  Rosie,  to  be  gratified  in  this  mattc^,  out 
she  did  not  say  so. 

"  After  all,"  thought  she,  "  I  daresay  there  is  no  harm  in 
it.  I  shall  not  spoil  the  pleasur  of  the  rest,  by  not  seoining 
to  enjoy  it.     But  I  don't  like  Mrs.  Grove."' 


I  m 


I 


\k 


fJ\ 


r  iT  f  ( 


1 

1 

1 

■. 

1 

» 

1 

1 

i 
i 

1  i  i| 

Hi 

238 


JANKTfi    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


Tho  last  words  were  omplmtieally  repeated.  Slio  did  not 
like  her.  Slie  did  not  wish  to  see  her  frequently,  or  to  know 
her  inthnatolv.  She  wished  she  had  neither  called,  nor  in- 
vitcd  them.  She  wished  she  had  followed  her  first  impulse, 
which  had  hecn  to  refuse  at  onco  without  referring  to  her 
brothers.     Now,  however,  she  must  go  with  a  good  grace. 

So  they  all  went,  and  enjoyed  it  veiy  nmch,  one  and  all,  as 
they  found  on  comparing  notes  aroimd  tho  bright  httle  fir 
which  Nelly  had  kept  burning,  against  their  return. 

"  Only,"  said  Hosie,  \\ith  a  little  shamefacedness,  "I  am 
not  sure  that  Graeme  liked  mo  to  dance  quite  so  much." 

Graeme  was  not  sure  cither,  but  she  did  not  think  this  the 
best  time  to  speak  about  it.     8o  slie  did  not. 

"  But  how  y(ni  ever  learned  to  dance  is  a  mystery  to  me," 
said  Arthur,  "  and  Hany  too,  I  saw  him  carrying  off  liliss 
Elphinstone,  with  all  the  coolness  imaginable.  Really,  the 
young  peoj)le  of  the  present  day  amaze  me." 

"  Oh  !  one  can  dance  without  learning,"  said  Rose,  laugh- 
ing.    "  The  music  inspires  it." 

"  And  I  have  danced  many  a  time  before,"  said  Harry. 
"  You  are  not  sorry  you  went,  are  you  Graeme '?" 

"  Sony !  no  indeed !  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  evening.' 

And  so  had  they  all.  Mrs.  Grove  had  made  a  great  effort 
to  get  a  great  many  nice  and  clever  people  together,  and  she 
had  succeeded.  It  had  required  an  effort,  for  it  was  only 
lately,  since  his  second  man'iage,  that  IVIr.  Grove  had  affect- 
ed the  society  of  clever  people,  or  indeed,  any  society  at  all. 
There  were  people  who  fancied  that  he  did  not  affect  it  yet, 
and  who  pitied  him,  as  he  wandered  about,  or  lingered  in  cor- 
ners among  the  guests,  that  his  more  aspiring  wife  managed  to 
bring  together.  He  did  not  enjoy  society  much,  but  that  was 
a  small  matter  in  the  opinion  of  his  wife.  He  was  as  little 
of  a  drawback  to  the  general  enjojanent,  as  could  be  exjiect- 
cd  in  the  circumstances.  If  he  was  not  quite  at  liis  ease,  at 
least,  he  was  seldom  in  anybody's  way,  and  Mrs.  Grove  was 
quite  able  to  do  the  honors  for  both.  Mr.  Grove  was  a  man 
whom  it  was  not  difficult  to  ignore,  oven  in  his  own  dining- 


JANKTS    LOVK    AND    HKIlVICi:. 


230 


so,  at 

e  was 

man 

iiiing- 


room.  Indeed,  the  ;:>Te.'itcst  kinilnoRS  that  could  bo  shown 
to  the  poor  little  man  in  the  cii'cnmstunce.s,  was  to  i.yiioro 
him,  and  a  gvcid  deal  of  tliis  sort  of  hind  fcelin*^  wan  iiiiiiii- 
fcstcd  towards  liiiii  hy  his  fjfnestr-i. 

On  the  first  entraneo  of  Artlnu*  and  Graeme,  their  host 
fastened  on  the  fonner,  reiu'wiii;^'  witli  fjTeat  earnestness  a 
ccmvcrsation  eomiiienrcd  in  the  mornin^jf  in  the  yonn^  man's 
offieo.  This  did  not  last  lonji;',  however.  The  hosless  had 
too  hig'h  an  oi)inion  of  ^NTr.  Elliott's  powers  of  pleasiiij^,  to 
permit  them  to  bo  wasted  on  hor  husl)and,  so  she  smilinj^ly 
earned  him  off,  leaving  IVIr.  Grovo  for  the  present,  to  tho 
tender  niereies  of  Graeme.  Ho  might  have  had  a  worso 
fate  ;  for  Graeme  listened  and  responded  with  a  politeness 
and  interest  to  which  ho  was  little  accustomed  from  his  wife's 
guests.  Befcn'o  he  became  unbearably  tedious,  she  was  res- 
cued by  Mr.  Ruthven,  and  i\Ir.  Grove  Avont  to  receive  IMr. 
Elias  Green,  the  great  western  merchant,  a  guest  far  mcire 
■worthy  of  his  attention  than  any  of  tho  fine  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, who  only  know  him  in  the  character  of  feast-maker, 
or  as  the  stupid  husband  of  his  asph'ing  wife. 

Graeme  had  scon  Allan  Ruthven  often  since  that  first 
night.  They  had  spoken  of  tlic  pleasant  and  painful  things 
that  had  befallen  them,  since  they  parted  so  long  ago,  or 
they  might  not  have  been  able  to  walk  so  quietly  up  and 
down  the  crowded  rooms,  as  they  did  for  a  while.  Then  they 
found  a  quiet,  or  rather  a  noisy  corner  in  the  music  room, 
where  they  pursued  then'  conversation  unmolested,  till  Harry 
brought  Miss  Elphinstonc  to  be  introduced  to  Graeme. 

This  was  a  mutual  pleasure,  for  Graeme  wished  to  know 
the  young  lady  who  had  long  been  Rosie's  ideal  of  all  that 
was  sweet  and  beautiful,  and  Miss  Elphinstone  was  as 
pleased  to  become  the  friend  of  one  whom  her  cousins  iVllan 
and  Charlie  admired  so  much.  And  when  she  begged 
permission  to  call  upon  her  and  Rose,  what  could  Graeme 
do,  but  be  charmed  more  and  more.  Then  INIiss  Elphin- 
stone Avas  claimed  for  another  dancC;  and  who  should  pre- 
sent himself  again  but  then'  host,  and  with  him  the  guest  of 


I 


240 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


i! 


I 


the  evening,  the  great  western  merchant.  Then  there  were  a 
few  nmutes  not  so  pleasant,  and  then  Mr.  Green  proposed 
that  they  "should  make  the  tour  of  the  rooms."  But 
(jracme  had  not  the  courage  for  such  an  ordeal,  and  smiling- 
ly bogged  to  bo  excused;  and  so  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and 
by  and  by,  Graeme  was  surprised  to  find  herself  interested 
in  his  conversation.  Before  he  had  been  a  gi*eat  merchant, 
Mr,  Green  had  been  a  farmer's  boy  among  the  hills  of  Ver- 
mont, and  when  he  knew  that  Miss  Elliott  had  passed  seven 
happy  years  in  a  New  England  village,  he  found  enough  to 
say  to  her;  and  Graeme  listened  and  responded,  well  pleased. 

She  had  one  uncomfortable  moment.  It  was  when  the 
supper  movement  began  to  be  made,  and  the  thought  flashed 
uj)on  her,  that  she  must  be  led  to  the  supper  room,  by  this 
western  giant.  Mr.  Ruthven  saved  her  from  this,  however, 
to  the  discontent  of  the  giant,  who  had  been  so  engaged  in 
talking  and  listening,  as  not  to  have  perceived,  that  some- 
thing interesting  was  about  to  take  place.  The  sight  of  the 
freely  flowing  cliarapagne  gave  Graeme  a  sliock,  but  a  glance 
at  Harry  reassured  her.  There  was  no  danger  for  him  to- 
night. Yes,  they  had  all  enjoyed  it,  they  acknowledged,  as 
they  lingered  over  the  fire  after  their  retui'n. 

"  But,  Arthur,"  said  Graeme,  "  I  was  disappointed  in  Miss 
Grove.  S^.e  is  pretty,  certainly,  but  there  is  something 
wanting — in  expression  I  mean.  She  looks  good  tempered, 
but  not  intcllectaal." 

"Intellectual!"  repeated  Arthur..  "No,  One  would 
hardly  make  use  of  that  word  in  describing  her.  But  she  is 
almost  the  prettiest  little  thing  I  ever  saw,  I  think." 

"  And  she  certainly  is  the  silliest  little  thing  I  ever  saw," 
said  Harry,  'liosie,  if  I  thought  you  capable  of  talking 
such  stuff,  as  I  heard  from  her  pretty  lips  to-night,  /  would 


Arthur  laughed  ;  less,  it  seemed,  at  Avhat  HaiTy  had  said, 
than  at  what  it  recalled. 

"  She  is  not  lilcely  to  astonish  the  world  by  her  wisdom,  T. 
should  tliink,"  said  he,  as  ho  rose  to  go  up  staii's.     "  Nor 


JANEt'8    love    and   SEIIVICE.  £41 

5::f "'  '"•  """  """^'••"  '^^  "O"^*  "-"gting,  and  loot- 

timif  "Ta,°/r  '  "'■"  *^'™'"  S"'""'  P''"°*  "^  ^dom  just  now,  I 
>i  b.caU.st  M  Lopt  wa:tag.    Good  night,  Ha.,y.    ion't  sit 


11 


I  'jf 


if 


f.  t 


tl  u 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

WHETHER  Nelly  lost  her  patience  next  mominf?  or 
not,  history  docs  not  record  •  but  it  is  a  fact  that 
breakfast  was  late,  and  late  as  it  was,  Rosie  did  not  make 
her  appearance  at  it.  Graeme  had  still  a  y  pleasant  re- 
membrance of  the  evening,  but  it  was  not  altogether  un- 
mixed. The  late  breakfast,  the  disarrangement  of  household 
matters,  Rosie's  lassitude,  and  her  own  disinclination  to 
engage  in  any  serious  occupation,  was  some  drawback  to  the 
remembrance  of  her  enjoyment.  All  were  more  or  less  out 
of  sorts,  some  from  one  cause,  some  from  another. 

This  did  not  last  long,  however.  The  drawback  was  for- 
gotten, the  pleq,(3ure  was  remembered,  so  that  when  a  day  or 
two  afterward,  a  note  came  fiom  Mrs.  Gridley,  begging 
the  presence  of  the  brothei*s  and  sisters  at  a  smaU  party 
f^t  her  house,  nothing  was  said  about  refusing.  Mrs. 
Gridley  had  promised  some  fi-iends  from  Toronto,  a  treat  of 
Scottish  music,  and  she  would  be  inconsolable  should  they 
disappoint  her.  But  the  consolation  of  Mrs.  Gridley  was 
not  the  chief  reason  of  the  acceptance.  Arthur  was  to  be 
out  of  town,  but  Will,  was  to  go  in  his  place.  They  went, 
and  enjoyed  it  well  ;  indeed,  it  was  veiy  enjoyable. 

Mrs.  Gridley  was  a  serious  person,  said  her  friends,  and 
some,  who  had  no  claim  to  the  title  said  the  same 
— the  tone  and  manner  making  all  the  difference  in  the 
sense  of  the  declaration.  She  would  not  for  much,  have 
been  guilty  of  giving  dancing  or  card  pai'ties  in  her  own 
house,  though  by  some  mysterious  process  of  reasoning, 
she  had  convinced  herself  that  she  could  quite  innocently 
make  one  of  such  i^arties  in  the  houses  of  other  people.  So 
(242) 


JANET'S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


243 


^s,  and 

same 

tn  tbo 

have 

ovvn 

loning, 

jccntly 

So 


there  v/as  only  music  and  conversation,  and  a  simple  game 
or  two  for  the  very  young  people.  Graeme  and  Kosie,  and 
Will.,  too,  enjoyed  it  well.  Harry  professed  to  have  been 
bored. 

Out  oi  these  parties  sprang  others.  Graeme  hardly  knew 
how  ic  happened,  but  the  number  of  then*  acquaintances 
greatly  increased  about  this  time.  Perhaps  it  was  partly 
owing  to  the  new  partnership  entered  into  by  Arthur,  with 
the  long  established  firm  of  Black  &  Co.  They  certainly 
owed  to  this,  the  sight  of  several  fine  carriages  at  their  door, 
and  of  several  pretty  cards  in  then*  receiver.  Invitations 
came  thick  and  fast,  until  an  entire  change  came  over  their 
manner  of  life.  Regular  reading  was  interfered  with  or 
neglected.  Household  matters  must  have  fallen  into  con- 
fusion, if  Nelly  had  not  proved  herself  equal  to  all  emergen- 
cies. Tne  long  quiet  evening  at  home  became  the  exception. 
They  went  out,  or  some  one  came  in,  or  there  was  a  lectui-e 
or  concert,  or  when  the  sleighing  became  good  a  drive  by 
moonlight.  There  were  skating  parties,  and  snowshoeing 
parties,  enough  to  tire  the  strongest ;  and  there  was  no 
leasure,  no  quiet  time. 

Graeme  was  not  long  in  becoming  dissatisfied  with  this 
changed,  unsettled  life.  The  novelty  soon  wore  off  for  her, 
and  she  became  painfully  conscious  of  the  attendant  evils. 
Sadly  disinclined  herself  to  engage  in  any  serious  occupation, 
she  could  not  but  see  that  with  her  sister  it  was  even  worse. 
Rose  enjoyed  all  these  gay  doings  much  more,  and  in  a  way 
quite  different  from  her ;  and  the  succeeding  lassitude  and 
depression  were  proportionably  greater.  Indeed,  lassitude 
and  depression  were  quite  too  gentle  terms  to  apply  to  the 
child's  sensations,  and  her  disinclination  to  occupation  some- 
times manifested  itself  in  an  unmistakable  approach  to 
peevishness,  unless,  indeed,  the  party  of  the  evening  was  to 
be  followed  by  the  excm'sion  of  the  day.  Then  the  c\il 
effects  were  delayed,  not  averted.  For  a  time,  Graeme  made 
excuses  for  her  to  herself  and  to  her  brothers  ;  then  she  did 
what  was  much  wiser.     She  determined  to  put  a  stop  to  tho 


I  ^1 

i 


-«««afl(w!imMMn 


244 


JAJSIETS   LOVl::   AND   SKRVICK. 


?,!'•,' 


11      p; 
11       ii' 


cause  of  so  much  discomfort.  Several  cii-cumstanccs  helped 
her  to  this  decision,  or  rather  to  see  the  nc  cessity  for  it. 
She  only  hesitated  as  to  the  manner  in  Avhich  she  was  to 
make  her  determination  known  ;  and  while  she  hesitated,  an 
opportunity  to  discuss  their  changed  hfe  occurred,  and  she 
did  not  permit  it  to  pass  unimproved. 

Christmas  and  New  Year's  had  been  past  for  some  weeks, 
and  there  was  a  pause  in  the  festivities  of  their  circle,  when 
a  billet  of  the  usual  form  and  pui-pcrt  was  left  at  the  door 
by  a  servant  in  hvery.  Rose,  who  had  seen  him  pass  the 
window,  had  much  to  do  to  keep  herself  quiet,  till  Nelly  had 
taken  it  fi'ora  his  hand.  She  just  noticed  that  it  was  ad- 
dressed to  Graeme,  in  time  to  prevent  her  from  opening 
it. 

"  "Wliat  is  it,  Graeme  ?  "  asked  she,  eagerly,  as  she  entered 
the  room  where  her  sister  was  writing.  "I  am  almost  sure 
it  was  left  by  Mrs.  Roxbury's  servant.  See,  there  is  then* 
crest.     What  is  it  ?     An  mvitation  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Graeme,  quietly,  laying  down  the  note.  "  For 
the  twenty-seventh." 

"  Such  a  long  time !  It  will  be  a  grand  affair.  We  must 
have  new  dresses,  Graeme." 

She  took  up  the  note  and  read : 

"Mr;j.  Roxbury's  comphraents  to  Miss  Elliott." 

"  Miss  ElHott ! "  she  repeated.  ""\A1iy,  Graeme !  I  am  not 
invited." 

*'  So  it  seems  ;  but  never  mind,  Rosie.  I  am  not  going  to 
accept  it." 

Rose  was  indeed  crestfallen. 

"  Oh,  you  must  go,  of  course.  Y'^ou  must  not  stay  at  homo 
on  my  account." 

"  No  ;  certainly.  Tliat  is  not  the  reasr  n.  Yoiu'  being 
invited  would  have  made  no  difference." 

"  I  could  hardly  have  gone  without  you,"  said  Rose,  doubt- 
fullv. 

"Certainly  not.  Neither  of  as  would  have  gone.  If  I 
don't  accept  this  invitation  our  acquaintance  with  the  Rox- 


JANI:T  (3    LOVE   AND   SEKVICE. 


245 


homo 


being 


(loubt- 

If  I 
Rox- 


biirys  will  jierliiips  po  no  further.  That  woiild  be  a  sufficient 
reason  for  my  rcfiisiil,  if  there  were  no  others." 

"  A  sufficient  reason  for  not  rcfusinf,^  I  sliould  rather  say," 
said  Kose. 

"  No.  There  is  no  good  reason  for  keeping  up  an  ac- 
quahitanco  with  so  iiiiiny  people.  There  is  no  pleasure  iu  it; 
and  it  is  a  great  waste  of  time  and  strciigth,  and  money  too, 
for  that  matter." 

"But  Arthur  wishes  it.     He  thinks  it  right." 

*'  Yes,  to  a  certain  extent,  perhaps,  but  not  at  too  great  a 
cost.  I  don't  mean  of  money,  though  in  our  circumstances 
that  is  something,  too.  But  so  muc-h  going  out  has  been  at 
a  great  s.acrifice  of  time  and  comfort  to  u-j  all.  I  am  tired 
of  it.  "We  won't  speak  of  it  now,  however  ;  I  mustlininh  my 
letter."  For  to  tell  the  truth,  Rosie'sfaco  did  not  look  promis- 


ing. 


"Don't  send  a  refusal  till  you  have  spoken  to  Artlnu', 
Graeme.     If  ho  wishes  you  to  go,  you  ought,  you  knf)w." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  of  tliat.  Artlmr  does  not  very 
often  go  to  these  largo  parties  himself.  Ho  does  not  enjoy 
them.  And  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  deny  myself,  in  so 
bad  a  cause." 

*'  But  Graeme,  you  have  enjoyed  some  of  them,  at  least.  I 
am  sure  I  have  always  enjoyed  them." 

"  Yes,  I  have  enjoyed  some  of  them,  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
it  is  a  right  kind  of  enjoyment.  I  mean,  it  maybe  too  dearly 
bought.  And  besides,  it  is  not  the  party,  as  a  party,  that  I 
ever  enjoy.  I  have  had  more  real  x^leasurc  in  some  of  our 
quiet  evcnmgs  at  home,  with  onh* — only  one  or  two  friends, 

than  I  ever  had  at  a  party,  and ,  but  we  won't  talk  about 

it  now,"  and  she  1)cat  over  her  letter  again.  She  raised  her 
head  almost  inniiediately,  however. 

"And  yet,  Bosie,  I  dcm't  know  why  this  is  not  the  best 
time  to  say  what,  for  a  long  time,  I  have  meant  to  say.  We 
have  not  been  living  a  good  or  wise  life;  of  kite.  Do  you  niind, 
love,  what  Janet  said  to  us,  the  night  befor*'  we  came  away  ? 
Do  you  mind  the  (charge  she  gave  us,  to  keep  our  garments 


' 


ir 


^^ 


24:6 


JANETS    LOVE    AND    SEKVICIC. 


iinsj"  5ttccl  till  wc  meet  our  fallicr  .ind  mother  agaiu  ?  Do  you 
tliinlc,  dear,  the  life  of  pleasure  we  have  been  livings,  will  make 
us  more  like  what  our  mother  was,  more  like  what  our  father 
Avishcd  us  to  be — more  fit  to  meet  them  where  they  are  ?  " 

Graeme  spoke  very  earnestly.  Tliere  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Graeme,"  said  Rose,  "  do  you  think  it  wrong  to  go  to 
parties — to  dance?     Many  good  people  do  not." 

"  I  don't  know,  love.  I  cannot  tell.  It  might  be  right  for 
some  people,  and  yet  quite  wrong  for  us.  Certainly,  if  it 
withdraws  our  minds  from  things  of  importance,  or  is  the 
cause  of  our  neglecting  duty,  it  cannot  bo  right  for  us.  I  am 
afi'aid  it  has  been  doing  this  for  us  all  lately." 

Rosie  looked  gi'ave,  but  did  not  reply.  In  a  little,  Graeme 
added, 

"  I  am  afraid  our  last  letters  have  not  given  much  satisfac- 
tion to  Mrs.  Snow,  Rosie.  She  seems  afraid  for  us  ;  afraid, 
lest  we  may  become  too  much  engrossed  with  the  pleasant 
things  about  us,  and  reminds  us  of  the  care  and  watchfulness 
needed  *  to  keep  ourselves  unspotted  from  the  world.'  " " 

"But,  Graeme,  ever^'thing  is  so  different  in  Merleville, 
Janet  cannot  know.     And,  besides, " 

"  I  know,  dear  ;  and  I  would  not  like  to  say  that  we  have 
been  doing  anything  very  wrong  all  this  time,  or  that  those 
who  do  the  same  are  doing  wrong.  If  we  were  wiser  and 
stronger,  and  not  so  easily  influenced  for  evil,  I  daresay  it 
would  do  us  no  harm.  But,,  Rosie,  I  am  afraid  for  mjself, 
that  I  may  come  to  like  this  idle  gay  life  too  much,  or,  at  least, 
that  it  may  unfit  me  for  a  quiet  useful  life,  as  oiu*  father 
would  hove  chosen  for  us,  and  I  am  afraid  for  you,  too,  dear 
Rose." 

"I  enjoy  parties  very  much,  and  I  can't  see  that  there  is 
any  harm  in  it,"  said  Rosie,  a  Httle  crossly. 

"  No,  not  in  enjoying  them  in  a  certain  way,  and  to  a  cer- 
tain extent.  But,  Rose,  think  how  dreadful,  to  become  *a 
lover  of  pleasure.'     Is  there  no  danger  do  you  think,  love  ?" 

Rose  hung  her  head,  and  was  silent.     Graeme  went  on, 


Janet's  lovk  and  sekvice. 


247 


lave 
ihose 
and 
say  it 
self, 
east, 
atber 
dear 

sre  is 

I  eer- 
ie *a 
ve?" 


*'  j\Iy  durlin{]f,  thf>rc  is  danger  for  you — for  nic — for  us  all. 
How  can  we  ever  hope  to  win  Ilan-y  from  the  society  of  those 
who  do  liiiu  harm,  when  wo  are  hving  only  to  please  our- 
selves?" 

"  But,  Graeme,  it  is  better  that  we  should  all  go  together 
— I  mean  Harry  is  more  with  us  than  he  used  to  be.  It 
must  be  better." 

"  I  don't  know%  dear.  I  fear  it  is  only  a  change  of  evils. 
Harry's  temptation  meets  him  even  with  us.  And,  oh !  Rosie, 
if  our  (^xamplo  should  make  it  easier  for  Harry  to  go  astray ! 
But  we  won't  speak  about  Hariy.  I  trust  God  will  keep  him 
safe.     I  believe  He  will." 

Though  Graeme  tried  to  speak  calmly.  Rose  saw  that  she 
trembled  and  gi'ew  very  white. 

"  At  any  rate,  Rose,  we  could  not  hope  that  God  would 
hear  our  prayers  for  Harry,  or  for  each  other,  if  we  wc  re 
living  in  a  way  displeasing  to  Him.  For  it  is  not  well  with 
us,  dear.  We  need  not  tiy  to  hide  it  from  ourselves.  We 
must  forget  the  last  few  troubled  months,  and  begin  again. 
Yes,  we  must  go  farther  back  than  that,  Rosie,"  said  Graeme, 
suddenly  rising,  and  putting  her  arms  about  her  sister.  "  Do 
you  mind  that  last  night,  beside  the  two  graves  ?  How  lil  tie 
worth  all  seemed  to  us  then,  except  to  get  safe  home  together. 
Rosie  !  I  coiild  not  answer  for  it  to  our  father  and  mother  if 
we  were  to  Uve  this  troubled  life  long.  My  darling !  we  niu  it 
begin  again." 

There  were  tears  on  Rosie's  cheeks,  as  well  as  Graeme's, 
by  this  time.     But  in  a  httle  Graeme  sat  do^vn  again. 

"  It  is  I  who  have  been  most  to  blame.  These  gay  doings 
never  should  have  commenced.  I  don't  tliink  Arthur  will  ob- 
ject to  our  Uving  much  more  quietly  than  we  have  done 
of  late.  And  if  he  docs,  we  must  try  and  reconcile  him 
to  the  change." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  reconcile  Arthur  to  the  change. 
"  Graeme  must  do  as  she  thought  right,"  he  said.  "  It  nmst 
be  rather  a  troublesome  tiling  to  keep  up  such  a  gcjnerul  ac- 
quaintance— a  loss  of  time  to  little  pui-pose,"  and  so  it  would 


i 

$ 


n. 


11 


248 


JANliT  S   LOVE   AND   SKEVICE. 


ill 


. 

1  1 

I 

J, 
1 

i 

1 

. 

i     \ 

have  ended,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  if  Hurry  had  not  dis- 
covered IVIi's.  lloxbury's  note. 

"I  declare  Mrs.  Gridley  is  right,"  sjiid  he.  ""\Vc  area 
rising"  family.  I  hope  you  gave  that  lady  a  chance  to  peep 
into  this  note,  when  she  was  here  to-day.  But  how  is  this  ? 
Miss  Elliott.     Have  you  one,  Kosie  ?  " 

Rose  shook  her  head. 

"  No.     Have  yon,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Have  I  ?  What  are  you  thinking  of.  Rose  ?  Do  you  suppose 
those  lofty  portals  would  give  admission  to  one  who  is  only  a 
humble  clerk  ?  It  is  oidy  for  such  commercial  successes  as 
Mr.  Green,  or  Allan  Ruthven,  that  that  honor  is  reserved. 
But  never  mind,  Rosie.  We  shall  find  somctliuig  to  amuse 
us  that  night,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Graeme  is  not  going,"  said  Rose. 

"  Not  going !     Oh !  she  'U  think  better  of  it." 

"  No,  she  has  sent  her  refusal." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  " 

•'  Oh !  one  can't  go  everywhere,  as  ]\Irs.  Gridley  say.s,"  re- 
plied Graeme,  thus  appealed  to. 

"  Yes  ;  but  Mrs.  Gridley  said  that  with  regard  to  a  gather- 
ing of  our  good  fiiend,  Willie  Birnie,  the  tailor.  I  can  under- 
stand how  she  should  not  find  time  to  go  there.  But  how 
you  sliould  find  time  to  shine  on  that  occasion,  and  have  none 
to  spare  for  IMrs.  Roxbuiy's  select  affair,  is  more  tlian  I  can 
comprehend." 

"Don't  bo  snobbish,  Harry,"  said  Will 

"  I  tliink  the  reasons  are  obvious,"  said  Arthiu*. 

"  Yes,"  said  Graeme,  "  we  knew  Willie  Bhnie  when  wo 
were  chilth-en.  He  was  at  the  school  with  vou  all.  And  I 
like  liis  new  ^vifc  very  much,  and  our  going  gave  them  plea- 
sure, and,  besides,  I  enjoyed  it  well." 

"  Oh !  if  you  are  going  to  take  a  sentimental  view  of  the 
matter,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  And  Willie  is  a  fine  fellow  ; 
I  don't  object  to  W^illie,  or  the  new  wife  citlu>r — quite  the  con- 
trary. But  of  the  two,  jieople  generally  Avould  prefer  to  cul- 
tivate the  acquaintance  of  Mrs,  Roxbury  and  her  set." 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


240 


Ica- 

bho 

jw  ; 

|on- 

kil- 


"  Graeme  is  not  like  people  g-cnorally,"  said  Rose. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  AVill.  "And,  Harry,  Avhat  do  you  sup- 
pose Mrs.  Roxbury  cares  about  ar-y  of  us,  afar  all?  " 

"  fSlic  ciu'cs  about  Graeme  going  to  her  party,  or  slio  would 
not  have  asked  her." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Graeme,  smihng  at  the  eager- 
ness of  the  brothers.  "  I  sui)poso  she  asked  me  for  the  same 
reason  that  she  called  here,  because  of  tlie  pai-tnership.  They 
are  connected  with  the  Blacks,  m  some  way.  Now,  that  it 
is  off  her  conscience,  having  uivited  me,  I  daresay  she  will 
be  just  as  well  i^lcased  that  I  should  stay  at  home." 

"That  is  not  the  ^'  --st  bit  uncharitable,  is  it  Graeme?" 

"  No.  I  don't  thinxC  so.  It  certainly  cannot  make  much 
difference  to  her,  to  have  one  more  or  less  at  her  house  on 
the  occasion.  I  really  thuik  she  asks  me  fi'om  a  sense  of 
duty — or  rather,  I  ought  to  say,  from  a  wish  to  be  polite  to 
her  fi-iends  the  Blacks.  It  is  very  well  that  she  should  do  so, 
and  if  I  cared  to  go,  it  would,  of  course,  be  agi'eeable  to  her, 
but  it  will  not  trouble  her  in  the  least  though  I  stay  away." 

"  Well,  I  can't  but  say  you  have  chosen  an  unfortunate  oc- 
casion to  begin  to  bo  fastidious.  I  should  think  the  Rox- 
bury's  would  be  the  very  house  you  would  like  to  go  to." 

"  Oh !  one  has  to  make  a  beginning.  And  I  am  tired  of 
so  much  gayety.  It  makes  no  difference  about  its  being  Mrs. 
Roxbuiy." 

"  Very  well.  Please  youi'self  and  you  11  please  me,"  said 
Hari'y,  rising. 

"Ai*e  you  going  out  to-night,  Harry?"  said  Graeme,  t ly- 
ing not  to  look  anxious. 

"  Yes  ;  but  pray  don't  wait  for  me  if  I  should  not  be  in 
early,"  said  Haiiy,  rather  hastily. 

There  was  nothing  said  for  some  time  after  Harry  went 
out.  "Will,  went  to  his  books,  and  Rose  went  to  the  ])iano. 
Graeme  sewed  busily,  but  she  looked  gi'ave  and  anxious. 

"  What  can  make  Harry  so  desirous  that  you  should  go  to 
Mrs.  Roxbury 's  ?"  said  Arthur,  at  last.     "  Have  you  any  jiur- 
ticular  reason  forniot  Avislnng  to  go  ?  " 
11* 


8* 


250 


JANKT  8    LOVE   AND   6EUVICE. 


1! 


f    ! 


fi 


If 


t 


"  Do  you  think  Harry  really  cared  ?  No  ;  I  have  no  reason 
for  not  wishing  to  go  there.  But,  Ai'thur,  wo  have  been  going 
out  too  much  lately.  It  is  not  good  for  Rosie,  nor  for  mo, 
either  ;  and  I  refused  this  invitation  chiefly  because  she  was 
not  invited.  I  might  not  have  had  the  courage  to  refuse  to 
go  with  her — as  she  would  have  been  eager  to  go.  But  it  is 
not  good  for  her,  all  this  party-gouig." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right.  She  is  too  young,  and  not  by 
any  means  beyond  being  spoiled.    She  is  a  very  pretty  girl." 

*' Pretty!  Who  can  compare  with  her?"  said  Graeme. 
"  But  she  must  not  bo  spoiled.     She  is  best  at  homo." 

"  Proudfuto  tells  mo  this  is  to  be  a  reception  in  honor  of 
your  friend  Ruthven,  and  Miss  Elphinstonc,"  said  Arthui*. 
"  It  seems  the  wedding  is  to  come  oflf  soon.  Proudiute  is  a 
relation  of  their's,  you  know." 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  know  it,"  said  Graeme  ;  and  in  a  little  she 
added,  "  ought  that  to  make  any  difference  about  my  going  ? 
My  note  is  written  but  not  sent." 

"  I  should  think  not.  You  are  not  supposed  to  know  any- 
thing about  it.  It  is  veiy  likely  not  true.  And  it  is  nothing 
to  us." 

"  No  ;  that  is  true,"  said  Graeme.  "  Rosie,  my  dear,  you 
are  playing  too  quickly.  That  should  be  quite  otherwise  at  the 
close,"  and  rising,  she  went  to  the  piano  and  sat  down  beside 
her  sister.  They  played  a  long  time  together,  and  it  was 
Hose  who  was  tired  first  'for  a  wonder.' 

"  Graeme,  why  did  you  not  tell  Harry  the  true  reason  that 
you  did  not  wish  to  go  to  Mrs.  Roxbui'y's  ?  "  said  Rose,  when 
they  went  up  stairs  together, 

"  The  true  reason  ?  "  repeated  Graeme . 

"  I  mean,  why  did  you  not  speak  to  him  as  you  spoke  to 
me?" 

"1  don't  know,  dear.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  done  so. 
But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  speak  to  others  as  it  is  to  you.  I  am 
afraid  Harry  would  have  cared  as  little  for  the  true  reason  as 
for  the  one  I  gave." 

"  I  don't  know,  Graeme.    He  was  not  satisfied  ;  and  don't 


li    !' 


JANETS  lovp:  and  skrvice. 


251 


to 

30. 

im 

las 


you  think  it  would  have  been  better  just  to  say  you  didn't 
think  it  rij^ht  to  go  out  so  much — to  hirgc  parties,  I  nieau." 

"  Perhijps  it  would  have  been  better/'  said  Graeme,  Ijut 
she  said  no  more ;  and  sat  down  in  the  shadow  with  her  Bible 
in  her  hand  for  the  nightly  reading.  Hose  had  finished  her 
preparations  for  bed  bef(3ro  she  stiri'ed,  and  coming  up  behind 
her  she  whispered  softly, 

"  Graeme,  you  are  not  afraid  for  IlaiTy  now  ?  I  mean 
not  more  afraid  ?  " 

Graeme  started.  Her  thoughts  were  painful,  as  her  face 
showed  ;  but  they  were  not  of  Harry. 

"  I  don't  know  love.  I  hope  not.  I  pray  God,  no  harm 
may  come  to  Harry.  Oh !  Rosie,  Rosie,  we  have  been  all  wrong 
this  long,  long  time.  Wo  have  been  dreaming,  I  think.  "We 
must  waken  up,  and  begin  again." 


f 


I't 


m 


' 


lit 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

GRAE^^IE'S  first  judgment  of  Allan  Riithven,  had  boon, 
"  how  these  ton  years  have  changed  him  ; "  but  she 
quite  forgot  the  first  judgment  when  she  came  to  see  him 
more,  and  meeting  his  kind  ej'es  and  listening  to  his  kind 
voice,  in  the  days  that  followed  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  ia 
the  same,  the  very  same." 

But  her  fii'st  judgment  was  the  true  one.  He  was  changed. 
It  A\'ould  have  been  strange  if  the  wear  and  tear  of  commer- 
cial life  for  ten  years  had  not  changed  him,  and  that  not  for 
the  better. 

In  the  renewal  of  intercom'se  with  his  old  friends,  and  in 
the  new  acquaintance  he  made  with  his  brother  Charlie,  he 
came  to  know  himself  that  he  had  changed  gi'eatly.  He  re- 
membered sadly  enough,  the  aspu*ations  that  had  died  out  of 
his  heart  since  his  youth,  the  temptations  that  he  had  strug- 
gled against  always,  but  which,  alas !  he  had  not  always 
withstood.  He  knew  now  that  his  faith  had  grown  weak, 
that  thoughts  of  the  unseen  and  heavenly  had  been  put  far 
away  from  him. 

Yes  ;  he  was  gi-eatly  changed  since  the  night  he  had  stood 
with  the  rest  on  the  deck  of  the  "  Steadfast,"  watching  the 
gleaming  lights  of  a  strange  city.  Standing  now  face  to  face 
with  the  awakened  remembrance  of  his  own  ideal,  he  Imew 
that  he  had  fallen  far  short  of  its  attainment ;  and  readinp- 
in  Graeme's  truthful  eye  "the  same,  the  very  same,"  hi;  owu 
often  fell  with  a  sense  of  shame  as  though  he  were  (  .ng 

her. 

He  was  changed,  and  yet  the  wonder  was,  that  the  ^nflu 
ences  of  these  ten  years  had  not  changed  Imn  more.  The 
(252) 


I 


jANr:T\s  LOVK  AND  si;rvick. 


253 


Hg 


lonely  lifo  lie  hud  pictured  to  Ium  friondH,  that  last  nifjjht  on 
tho  "  Stc:idt'jist,"  fell  fur  short  of  tho  reality  that  awaited  him. 
Kemovcd  from  tho  kindly  associations  of  home,  and  the  tran- 
quil pursuits  and  ploasuros  of  a  country  villaj^e,  to  the  tur- 
moil of  a  AVestern  city,  and  tho  arnioyanco  of  a  Rubordinato 
in  a  merchant's  of'lice,  ho  shrunk,  at  first,  in  dis<j^ist  from  tho 
lifo  that  seemed  openinj^  before  him.  His  native  place, 
humble  as  it  was,  had  lived  in  son;^*  and  story  for  many  cen- 
turies ;  and  in  this  city  Avhich  had  spruni,'  up  in  a  day, 
nothing  seemed  still  )lo  or  secnirc.  A  few  months  ago  the  tiu'f 
of  the  prairie  had  been  undisturbed,  where  to-day  its  broad 
streets  aro  trodden  by  tho  feet  of  thousands.  Between  gi- 
gantic blocks  of  buildhigs  rishig  eveiywhcre,  strips  of  the 
prairie  turf  lay  undisturbed  still.  The  au*  of  newness,  of  in- 
completeness, of  insecm'ity  that  seemed  to  surromid  all  things 
impressed  liim  painfully  ;  the  sudden  prosperity  seemed  un- 
real and  uimatural,  as  well  it  might,  to  one  Ijrought  up  in  a 
country  where  the  first  thought  awakened  by  change  or  in- 
novation is  one  of  mistrust  and  doubt. 

All  his  preconceived  ideas  of  business  and  a  business  lifo, 
availed  him  nothing  in  tho  new  circumstances  in  which  ho 
found  himself.  If  business  men  were  guided  in  their  mutual 
relations  by  any  principle  of  faith  or  honor,  he  failed  in  the 
fu'st  bitterness  of  liis  disgust  to  see  it.  Business  lifo  seemed 
but  a  scramble,  in  which  the  most  alert  seized  the  greatest 
portion.  The  feverish  activity  and  energy  which  were  fast 
changing  the  prairie  mto  a  populace  ])\a.ce  seemed  du'ected  to 
one  end,  the  getting  of  wealth.  Wealth  must  be  gotten  by 
fair  means  or  foul,  and  it  must  be  gotten  sitddenly.  There 
was  no  respite,  no  repose.  One  must  onward  or  be  pushed 
aside,  or  be  trodden  under  foot.  Foiiune  was  daily  tempted, 
and  the  daily  result  was  success,  or  utter  failure,  till  a  new 
chance  could  bo  gi'asped  at. 

"  Honest  labor !  Patient  toil !  "  Allan  wondered  witliin 
liimself  if  the  words  had  over  reached  the  inward  sense  of 
those  eager,  anxious  men,  jostling  each  other  in  their  nevor- 
casing  struggle. 


I? 


254 


JANET  S   Lt»VE   -AND    SEUVICE. 


i 


Allan  watcliod,  ami  wondered,  and  mused,  trying  to  nuder- 
stand,  unci  to  make  himself  chaiitable  ovqv  the  evil,  by  calling 
it  a  national  one,  and  telling  liimself  that  those  men  of  the 
new  world  were  not  to  bo  jujlged  by  old  laws,  or  measured  by 
old  standai'ds.  But  there  were  among  the  swiftest  runners 
of  the  race  for  gold  men  from  all  lands,  men  whose  boyish 
feet  had  wandered  over  English  meadows,  or  trod  the  hea- 
ther on  Scottish  hills.  Men  whose  fathers  had  spent  their 
lives  content  in  mountaba  shealings,  with  no  wish  beyond 
their  flocks  and  their  native  glens  ;  humble  artisans,  smiths, 
and  masons,  who  had  passed  in  their  own  country  for  honest, 
patient,  Godfearing  men,  prow  as  eager,  as  unscrupulous,  ais 
swift  as  the  fleetest  in  the  race.  The  very  diggers  of  ditches, 
and  breakers  of  stone  on  the  highway,  the  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water,  took  with  discontent  thf  ■  it  was  no 
more  theu*  daily  wages,  doubled  or  tripled  to  them,  since  they 
set  foot  on  the  soil  of  the  new  world. 

That  there  might  be  another  soi-t  of  hfe  in  the  midst  of 
this  turmoil,  he  did  not  consider.  He  never  could  associate 
the  idea  of  home  or  comfort  with  those  dingy  biick  struct- 
ures, springing  up  in  a  day  at  every  corner.  He  could  not 
fancy  those  hard  voices  growuig  soft  in  the  utterance  of 
lovmg  words,  or  those  thin,  compressed  lips  gladly  meeting 
the  smilmg  mouth  of  a  little  child.  Home !  AVhy,  all  the 
world  seemed  at  home  in  those  vast  hotels  ;  the  men  and 
women  greeting  each  other  coldly,  in  these  great  parlors, 
seemed  to  have  no  wants  that  a  black  man,  coming  at  the 
sound  of  a  bell,  might  not  easily  supply.  Even  the  children 
seemed  at  ease  and  self-possessed  in  the  midet  of  the  crowd. 
They  troubled  no  one  with  noisy  play  or  merry  prattle,  but 
sat  on  chairs  with  their  ciders,  listening  to,  or  joining  in 
the  conversation,  with  a  coolness  and  appropriateness  pain- 
fully suggestive  of  what  their  future  might  be.  Looking 
at  these  cmbrj'o  merchants  and  lino  larlies,  from  whose  pale, 
little  hps  "  dollar  "  and  "  change  "  ftUl  more  naturidly  than 
sweeter  words,  Ruthven  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  stniggle 
around  him.    He  fancied  lie  could  understand  how  these 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


255 


m- 


3se 


little  people,  strangers,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  to  a  home  or  oven 
to  a  childhood,  should  become  in  time  the  eager,  absorbed, 
unscrupulous  runners  and  wrestlers,  jostling  each  other  in 
the  daily  stiife. 

Rutliven  was  very  bitter  and  imjust  in  many  of  his  jutlg- 
mcnts  during  tlie  first  part  of  his  residence  in  vJ.  He  changed 
his  opinions  of  many  things  afterwards,  partly  because  ho 
became  wiser,  partly  because  ho  became  a  httle  blmd,  and, 
especiaUyj  because  he  himself  became  changed  at  last.  By 
and  by  his  life  was  too  busy  to  permit  him  to  watch  those 
about  him,  or  to  pronomice  judgment  on  their  aims  or 
character.  Uncongenial  as  he  had  at  first  found  the  employ- 
ment which  his  uncle  had  provided  for  him,  he  pursued  it 
with  a  patient  steadiness,  which  made  it  first  endurable,  then 
pleasant  to  him.  At  first  his  duties  were  merely  mechanical ; 
so  much  writing,  so  much  computing  each  day,  and  then  his 
time  was  his  own.  But  this  did  not  continue  long.  Trusted 
always  by  the  firm,  he  was  soon  placed  in  a  position  where 
he  was  able  to  do  good  service  to  his  employers.  His  skill 
and  will  guided  their  affairs  through  more  than  one  painful 
crisis.  His  integrity  kept  their  good  name  unsulhod  at  a 
tune  when  too  many  yielding  to  what  seemed  necessity,  were 
betaking  themselves  to  doubtful  means  to  preserve  theit 
credit.  He  thoroughly  identified  himself  with  the  interests 
of  the  firm,  even  when  his  uncle  was  a  comparative  stranger 
to  him.  He  did  his  duty  in  his  service  as  he  would  havo 
done  it  in  the  service  of  another,  constantly  and  conscien- 
tiously, because  it  was  right  to  do  so.  So  passed  the  first 
years  of  his  commercial  life. 

In  default  of  other  interests,  ho  gave  himself  wholly  up  to 
business  pursuits,  till  no  onlooker  on  the  busy  scene  m  which 
he  was  taking  part  would  have  thought  of  singhng  him  out 
as  in  any  respect  different  from  tliose  who  wero  about  him. 
Those  who  came  into  close  contact  with  hun  called  him 
honorable  and  upright,  indeed,  over  scrupulous  in  many 
points  ;  and  he,  stanchng  apart  from  them,  and  in  a  certain 
sense  above  them,  was  willing  so  to  be  called.    But  as  one 


icRm 


25(5 


.1 A N I ; r  H  I ,< » \  !•:  and  » i; i i \  h •  i;. 


nuiMnl  loucli  pilch  willioiit.  hciii','  (Iclilcd,  ho  a  iniin  must. 
}icl(l  ill  liiiii'  io  ilic  iiilliK  n((  s  ill  tlic  iiiidnt  of  wliicli  lio  li;iM 
voliinliirilv  pl.iccil  liiiiiMcH'.  St)  il,  caiiui  lo  ])!1.sm  lliul,  us  llio 
vr.'ir.s  wmt  on,  Allmi  liullivni  w.-is  };n';i(Iv  cliaii;;*!!. 

11.  iirt'd  not  \v.i\o  hi'cii  so.  It  doiihtlrsM  wmh  I'jir  olliorwis** 
with  soiiH'  who,  in  his  piith?  luul  i;^'norun('(',  lio  liiid  c.ilh'd 
oMrlh-wornis  .'iiid  worshippi^rs  of  j;"oM  ;  for  lhoii;^^h,  in  (hn 
lirst  bilicnicss  of  his  isol;i(i«)n,  h(*  \v;is  shnv  lo  (hscovcir  il, 
UuTo  wnc  ill  lh»'  iiiidsi  of  tlio  tiirnioil  and  slrifo  of  thai,  new 
cilv  warm  h(>;ir(s  and  hjipjiv  hoiucs.  and  (he  l»h>sscd  inlhuuico 
of  tho  Christ ian  faitli  and  ihc.  Chrisliau  hfo.  Thcro  wcvo 
thos(»  over  wlioni  ih(>  ^ainsL^cCiin;^  (U'lnon  of  thd  places  liad  no 
jiowrr,  hrcausc*  «>f  a  iah^^luau  lh(>v  held,  *ho  "  consl raining' 
lovi'  t)f  (Mirisi,"  in  thrm.  Those  wiilkcd  thron;^li  Jho  liro 
uns('alh(ul,  and,  in  lh«>  niiilsl  of  iiiiu-h  lliat  was  (l«'lihn<,',  kcpl, 
thoir  ^^arnirnts  clean,  Ihil,  liiilhvcn  was  not.  (MUi  of  thcin. 
H(>  had  Ihc  nanic  of  lhi>  lalisin.in  on  hi?;  hj)s,  l)iit.  h<>  had  not 
ils  hviiij;-  pow(>r  in  his  licart.  Jl(Mvas  a  Chrisliaii  only  in 
uiuno  ;  and*  so,  when  Ihe  inllueneo  of  curly  associalions 
lu'-^an  lo  j^Tow  W(>a,k,  and  he  l)»  <;au  lo  forj^i'i,  as  men  wiil  for 
a  linu\  hi^i  niolher's  leachinj^s  '*  in  Ihe  house,  and  hy  Ihe  way," 
sit  (lie  "Iviiii;-  down  aiul  tho  risinij;  up,"  no  wonder  that  tho 
<|ncstionai>le  maxims  IumivI  daily  JVt)ui  Ihe  lij)H  of  the 
>vovhllv-wisc»  should  I'ome  to  have  weij'ht  wilh  him  ai,  last. 

Not  that  in  those  days  he  was,  in  any  sense,  a  lover  of 
j^ohl  for  its  own  sake.  Jle  never  sank  so  low  as  Ihat,  lint 
in  Ihe  <\-i,i>;erness  with  wiiieli  lie  devoted  himself  to  hnsiness, 
he  left  h.mself  no  linu^  for  Ihe  performances  of  olher  and 
liijjiu'r  duties,  or  for  the  cult ival ion  of  Ihose  ])rliici])les  and 
al'teclions  wliich  ciiii  alone  pi\>vent  the  e;i.rn(>st  husiness-mau 
from  dei^i'ucn'atiui!;  into  a  charai'ter  so  despi(  ahle.  If  he  was 
not  swept  away  by  the  stronj^'  currout  of  t«>mptation,  il  was 
because  of  no  wisdom  or  stren;j;th  or  fori'sij^ht  of  his.  An- 
other ten  Years  of  such  a  life  would  have  made  him,  as  it 
Jias  made  mauv  another — a  man  outwanllv  wovthv  of  esteem, 
but  inwaidly  seltish,  sonUih  wi»rldly — all  that  in  his  yonlh 
bo  had  most  despiseil. 


isfc 

l!l!4 


\v.d 


ID 


no 
liro 


(>i)i 


•  in 

ollS 

I  lor 


llio 


OI 

5ui, 


\ss. 


nd 


no 


an 


as 


as 
Ln- 


ni, 
th 


.rA.\i;rs  i,o\  r.  and  f.Ki.-vici; 


iir>7 


Tliin  may  scctn  (i  liard  jn(l;.;'ni<'nf,  Unl,  i(.  in  l.li«!  juil;;i5i»'nt  lio 
passed  on  Innisclf,  wlirii  llicrn  canif!  a  panne  in  liis  hnsy  Hie, 
jin<l  lie  looked  hacK'  over  lliosf^  yearn  and  I'ell/  tliaf.  lie  did  nol, 
liold  llii'  world  loo:,ely  IJiai  lie  ('(tnlil  iiof  open  lii  ;  liaiid  and 
lei,  it  .;•. 

llion'flil,  lliat,  lie  was  iiol,  like  IIm!  men  ahoiit  liim — conleiit, 


He  liad   lieeii    pleasin.L^  liiiiiMelt'  all  alori;^  wil  li   111' 


AvilJi  I, !i(^  winning' of  weallli  and  ])osilion  in  Mk;  world  ;  l)iit, 
tlicre  caine  a,  tiiiu!  win  n  i!,  wan  broii.^lit  Hlia,r|tly  home  to  liim 
iliai  willioui  MicHC!  lie  could  iiol.  ]h\  confeiil,.  It  was  a  (M'efit 
Hlioeli  and  Hurprise  to  liim  fo  lie  forced  to  realize  liow  far  lin 
liiid  dril'Ird  on  willi  the  current,  and  how  im|»oH^ii)l(!  it  liad 
becomo  lo  {i^ei  hack  to  lh(!  old  Hlartinjf-|>lac(^  a;:;a,in,  ami  in  thn 
Ivnowled'^c  he  did  not  spare  himself,  hut  used  liai'dcK  and 
Kterncr  wi;rd!<  of  self-conlemjit  Mian  any  that  nn-.  written 
licr<'. 

]Jnt^iven"H  inlerconrwMvifli   liiw  nnchTu  family,  I lion'.,di  oc- 
currin;^'  at  lon,%'  int<  rvals,  had  been  of  n  wvy  [ileasant  kind, 


for  I 


le  w 


a.4  a  <rreat  favo'"'te  with   his  aunt  and  hin  oon 


^n^ 


liiliaH,  who  was  then  a  child.  Jnd(cd,  she  was  only  a  (;iiild 
when  lier  niolhcr  died  ;  and  wlieii  there-  fell  into  his  hands 
!i  lett(  r  written  by  bis  aunt  to  his  mother,  dui'in.'f  one  of  his 
tirsi  visits  to  IVL,  in  whic^li  half  sorionsly,  lialf  ]>la.yfiilly,  was 
expressed  a  wisli  that  tlu;  cousins  ini,%'iit  onf;  day  stand  in  a 
iiear(>r  and  dearer  I'elation  to  onc^  another,  he,  was  {,'really 
surprised  and  amused.  I  am  afraid  it  was  only  tlio  thoiii^dit 
that  the  band  that  bad  ixmuumI  tlio  wish  was  cold  in  death 
that  kept  him  from  shockiji^f  bis  mother  l)y  lau^'hiii'.^  out- 
rii'lit  at  the  i<lea.  For  what  a  child  Lilias  must  hav(;  b( on 
AvluMi  that  was  written,  tbou;^dit  lu; !   what  a  child  slie  was 

Htill! 

]]ut  the,  years  went  on,  and  tlie  cbiM  <^'{)\\  into  a  beautiful 
woman,  and  tlio  reniembraiK'e  of  bis  aunt's  wisli  was  pleasant 
to  Allan  liutbven,  becaus(>  of  bis  love,  and  adi.iiration  for  his 


couriii,  a!id  be«aiis(>  of  otiier  thin; 


lb;  coiild  not  lie  1)|ind 


to  the  advanta.^^es  that  such  a  connection  would  ensure  to 
bini.  'J'hc,  n(!W  jiartnersliij)  was  antici]»atel  and  eiit,e!(rd 
upon,  on  very  diU'erent  turja;i  iVom  tliost;  which  nii;;ht   havo 


m 


258 


JANET'S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


been,  but  for  the  silent  understanding  with  regai'd  to  Lilias 
that  existed  between  the  uncle  and  nephew.  It  was  no  small 
matter  that  the  young  merchant  should  find  himself  in  a 
position  to  which  the  greater  number  attain  only  after  half 
a  lifetime  of  labor.  He  was  at  the  head  of  a  lucrative  busi- 
ness, conscious  of  possessing  skill  and  energy  to  conduct  it 
well — conscious  of  youth  and  health  and  strength  to  enjoy 
the  future  opening  before  him.  Nor  was  there  anything 
wrong  in  this  appreciation  of  the  advantages  of  his  position. 
He  knew  that  this  wealth  had  not  bought  him.  He  loved 
his  cousin  Lilias,  or  he  thought  he  loved  her  ;  and  though 
up  to  this  time,  and  after  this  time  their  intercourse  was  only 
after  a  cousinly  sort,  he  beheved  she  loved  him.  The  thought 
did  come  into  his  mind  sometimes  whether  his  cousin  was  all 
to  him  that  a  woman  might  be,  but  never  painfully.  He  did 
not  doubt  that,  as  years  went  on,  they  would  be  verj'  happy 
together  after*  a  qaiet,  rational  fashion,  and  he  smiled,  now 
and  then,  at  the  fading  remembrance  of  many  a  boyish  dream 
as  to  how  his  wife  was  to  be  wooed  and  won. 

He  was  happy — they  were  all  hapj)y ;  and  the  tide  of 
events  flowed  quietly  on  till  the  niglit  when  Allan  clasped  the 
trembling  hand  of  Graeme  ElUott  Indeed,  it  flowed  quietly 
on  long  after  that,  for  in  the  charm  that,  night  after  night, 
drew  him  into  the  happy  circle  of  the  Elliotts,  he  recognized 
only  the  pleasure  that  the  renewal  of  old  friendships  and  tlie 
awakening  of  old  associations  gave  him.  The  pleasui-e  which 
his  cousiu  took  in  the  society  of  these  yoimg  people  was 
fijcarcely  less  than  his  own.  Around  the  heiress  and  only 
child  of  ]Mr.  Elphinstone  there  soon  gathered  a  brilliant  circle 
of  admirers,  the  greater  part  of  whom  would  hardly  have 
recognized  the  EUiotts  as  worthy  of  shaiing  the  honor  with 
them.  But  there  was  to  the  young  gu-1,  who  had  neither 
brother  nor  sister,  something  better  than  biilliancy  or  fashion 
in  Graeme's  (juiet  parlor.  The  mutual  love  and  confidence 
that  made  their  home  so  happy,  filled  her  with  wonder  and 
dehght,  and  there  were  few  days,  for  several  pleasant  mouths, 
in  which  they  did  not  meet. 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


259 


The  pleasant  intercourse  was  good  for  Lilias.  She  bright- 
ened under  it  wonderfully,  and  grew  into  a  very  different 
creature  from  the  pale,  quiet,  little  girl,  who  used  to  sit  so 
gravely  at  her  father's  side.  Iler  fathe?.-  saw  the  change  and 
rejoiced  over  it,  and  though  at  first  he  was  not  inclined  to  bo 
pleased  with  the  intimacy  that  had  spnuig  up  so  suddenly, 
he  could  not  but  confess  that  the  companionship  of  one  like 
Rose  EUiott  must  be  good  for  her.  Graeme  he  seldom  saw. 
The  long  morning  calls,  and  spending  of  days  with  her  friend, 
which  were  Rosie's  dehght,  Graeme  seldom  shared.  But  she 
was  quite  as  much  the  friend  of  Lilias  as  was  her  livelier  sis- 
ter, and  never  did  his  cousin  seem  so  beautiful  to  Allan, 
never  was  she  so  dear,  as  when,  with  pretty  willfulness,  she 
hung  about  Graeme,  claiming  a  right  to  share  with  Rose  the 
caresses  or  gentle  reproofs  of  the  elder  sister.  lie  did  not 
think  of  danger  to  himself  m  the  intercourse  which  Lilias 
shared  so  hapj^ily.  He  was  content  with  the  present,  and  did 
not  seek  tq  look  into  the  future. 

But  he  was  not  quite  free  from  troubled  thoughts  at  tliis 
time.  Li  the  atmosphere  in  which  he  lived  things  wore  a 
new  aspect  to  hun.  Almost  unconsciously' to  liimself  at  first, 
he  began  to  judge  of  men,  and  motives,  and  actions,  by  a  new 
iTile — or  rather,  he  came  back  to  the  old  rule,  by  which  he  had 
measured  all  things  in  his  youthful  days.  These  days  did  not 
seem  so  far  removed  from  him  now  as  they  used  to  do,  and 
sometimes  ho  found  himself  looking  back  over  the  last  ten 
years,  with  tlie  clear  truthful  eyes  of  eighteen.  It  was  not 
always  a  pleasant  retrospect.  There  were  some  things  covered 
up  by  that  time,  of  which  the  review  could  not  give  unmingled 
pleasure.  These  were  moments  when  he  eonld  not  meet 
Graeme's  truthful  ejes,  as  with  "Don't  you  remember?  "  she 
recalled  his  own  words,  spoken  long  ago.  He  knew,  though 
she  «.hd  not,  how  his  thoughts  of  alllfchings  had  changed  since 
then  ;  and  though  tlie  intervening  yAirs  had  made  him  a  man 
of  wealth  and  note,  there  came  to  him  at  such  moments,  a 
sense  of  failure  and  regi'et,  ar»  though  his  manhood  liad  belied 
the  promise  ot   his  youth — a  strong  desire  to  begin  anew 


;  : 


i  W 


il 


Mi 


1 


% 


2G0 


JANI^T  S   LOVE  AND   SEliVICE. 


— a  longing  after  a  better  life  than  tlicse  ten  years  bad  wit- 
nessed. 

]iut  these  pleasant  days  came  to  an  end.  Business  called 
Allan,  for  a  tiiiic,  to  bis  old  home  in  C,  and  to  liis  uncon- 
genial life  there.  It  was  not  pleasant  business.  There  was 
a  cry,  louder  tlifin  usual,  of  "  hard  times  "  through  the  coun- 
try, and  the  failure  of  several  houses,  in  which  he  had  placed 
iin})licit  coniiucnce  threatened,  not,  indeed,  to  endanger  tho 
safi'ty,  but  grcath'  to  enibaiTass  the  operations  of  tho  new 
llrni.  Great  losses  were  sustained,  and  complicated  as  their 
affairs  at  the  Vv'est  had  become,  Allan  began  to  fear  that  his 
own  presence  there  would  for  some  time  l^e  necessary.  Ho 
was  smYu-ised  and  startled  at  the  pam  which  the  prospect 
gav(^  him,  and  befijre  he  had  time  to  question  himself  as  to 
why  it  should  bo  so,  the  reason  was  made  plain  to  him. 

A  letter  written  ])\  his  uncle  immediately  after  a  partiid 
recovei-y  from  an  illness,  a  return  oi  which,  his  physicians  as- 
sured him  nuist  prove  fatal,  set  the  matter  before  him  m  its 
true  light.  The  letter  was  brief.  Knowmg  httle  of  the  dis- 
order into  which  recent  events  had  thrown  their  affairs,  ho 
entreated  iVUan's  immediate  return,  for  his  sake,  and  for  the 
sake  of  Lilias,  whom  it  distressed  liim  to  think  of  leaving  till 
he  should  see  her  safe  Avitli  one  ^vho  should  have  a  husband's 
right  to  protect  and  console  her.  It  was  simi)Iy  and  frankly 
said,  as  one  might  speak  of  a  matter  full}'  understood  and  a^)- 
proved  of  by  all  concerned.  But  the  words  smote  on  ^lllan's 
heai't  with  sliarp  and  sudden  pain,  and  he  knew  that  some- 
thing had  come  into  his  life,  smce  the  time  when  he  had 
liston(Ml  in  complacent  silence  to  j\Ir.  Elphinstone's  half  ex- 
pressed ideas,  concerning  Lilias  and  her  future.  There  was 
ploasiu'c  in  the  pahi,  sharp  and  sweet  while  it  lasted,  for  with 
the  knowledge  that  came  to  him,  that  he  lovid  (Jraeme  I'^iliott, 
there  came  also  the  lioj|e,  that  there  was  so]n(,'thing  more 
than  i;entlt!  fru'udiiiiess'in  the;  fe:'lin,';"s  with  which  she  re- 
garded him.  J3ut  the  pleasure  passed,  and  Ihe  pain  remaine:!, 
growing  Hhar[)er  and  dcejxn*  as  lie  looked  the  future  in  the  f  ice. 

It  was  not  a  hopeful  future.     As  for  his  cousin,  there  had 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


2G1 


passed  between  them  no  words  or  tokens  of  affection,  that 
conshis  might  not  very  well  exchange,  at  least,  he  was  willing 
to  believe  so  now  ;  and  judging  her  feehngs,  partly  by  his 
own,  and  partly  by  the  remembrance  of  many  a  chance  word 
and  action  of  the  last  few  months,  ho  said  to  himself,  the 
happiness  of  her  life  would  not  be  marred  though  they  might 
never  be  more  than  cousins  to  eacli  other.  But  this  did  not 
end  Iiis  doubts  as  to  the  course  that  lay  before  him,  and  every 
day  that  In  hngered  in  miserable  indecision,  made  more  evi- 
dent to  him  the  difficulties  of  his  position.  Ho  Icncw  it  was 
a  son's  place  that  he  had  got  in  the  firm.  He  could  only  claim 
it  as  a  son.  K  his  relations  to  Lilias  and  her  father  were 
changed,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  iKjt  honorably  claim 
a  position  which  had  been  urged  upon  him,  and  which  he  had 
gladly  accepted  with  a  view  to  these  relations.  The  past  ten 
3'ears  must  bo  as  nothing  to  him,  except  for  the  cxiierienco 
they  had  given  him,  the  good  name  they  had  won  for  him. 
He  must  begin  life  again  a  poor  man. 

But  let  mo  not  be  unjust  to  him.  It  was  not  tliis  that 
made  all  the  miser}'  of  his  indecision.  Had  all  this  come  m  a 
tunc  of  prosperity,  or  when  ^Er.  Elphinstone  had  sti-ength  and 
courage  to^meet  disaster  unmoved,  it  would  have  been  differ- 
ent. But  now,  when  all  thuigs  look..''  throateniiig,  when  cer- 
tain loss — possible  ruin — lay  before  them,  when  the  misfor- 
tunes of  some,  and  the  treachery  of  others  v»'ere  making  the 
vcn'  ground  beneath  their  feet  insecure,  could  he  leave  the 
feeble  old  man  to  straggle  through  these  dillicult  and  danger- 
ous times  alone?  He  knew  his  uncle  too  well  to  believe  that 
ho  ■would  wilUngly  accept  help  from  him,  their  relations  be- 
ing changed,  and  he  knew  that  no  skill  and  knowleilgo  but 
his  ovm  could  conduct  to  a  successfid  issue,  enterprises  under- 
taken under  more  favorable  circumstances. 

He  was  very  wretched.  He  could  not  put  away  tlie  dis- 
comfort of  his  indecision  In-  permitting  time  and  circumstan- 
ces to  decide  m  the  course  which  he  nuist  talce.  AMiatever 
was  done  must  be  done  by  him,  and  at  once.  There  was  no 
respite  of  time  or  chance  to  fall  back  upon,  in  the  strait  in 


202 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


which  he  found  himself.  He  did  not  hasten  home.  He  had 
cause  enough  to  excuse  the  delay  to  himself,  and  he  threw 
himself  into  the  increasingly  painful  details  of  business,  with 
an  energy  that,  for  the  time,  left  no  room  for  painful  thoughts. 
But  it  was  only  for  the  time.  He  knew  that  his  lingering 
A\as  useless,  in  view  of  what  the  end  must  be,  and  he  despised 
himself  for  his  indecision. 

If  his  choice  had  been  altogether  between  poverty  and 
wealth,  it  would  have  been  easy  to  him,  he  thought,  though 
it  forced  itself  upon  him  with  intense  bitterness  during  these 
days,  how  the  last  ten  years  had  changed  the  meaning  of  the 
word  to  him.  But  his  honor  was  involved — ^liis  honor  as  a 
man,  and  as  a  merchant.  He  could  not  leave  his  uncle  to 
Ktmggle  with  misfortune  in  his  old  age.  He  could  not  let 
the  name,  so  long  honored  and  trusted  in  the  commercial 
world,  be  joined  with  the  many  which  during  the  last  few 
months  had  been  coupled  with  ruin,  and  even  with  shame. 
Ho  was  respor.sible  for  the  stability  or  the  failure  of  the 
house,  which  for  thirty  years  had  never  given  cause  for  doubt 
or  fear.  More  than  this.  His  own  reputation  as  a  wise  and 
successful  man  of  business,  if  not  even  his  personal  honor 
was  at  stake,  to  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  separate  him- 
self from  the  alTaks  of  the  firm  at  a  juncture  so  perilous. 

And  then,  Lilias.  Notiiing  but  her  own  spoken  word  could 
fi'ce  him  from  the  tacit  engagement  that  existed  between 
them.     In  honor  he  could  never  ask  her  to  speak  that  word. 

Through  his  long  journey  of  days  and  nights  he  pondered 
it  all,  making  no  decision  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  or  said, 
but  gro\\'ing  gradually  conscious  as  he  drew  near  home,  that 
the  hfe  of  the  last  few  months,  was  coming  to  seem  more  and 
more  like  a  pleasant  dream  that  must  be  forgotten  in  the 
future.  He  met  his  imcle's  eager  greeting  with  no  word  of 
change.  His  face  was  pale  and  very  grave  when  he  met  his 
cousin,  but  not  more  so  than  hcr's.  But  that  might  very 
well  be  said  each  of  the  other.  Lihas  knew  more  of  the 
losses  which  the  firm  had  sustained  than  her  father  knew  ; 
and  Allan  might  well  look  grave,  she  thought,  and  the  watch- 


Janet's  love  and  service.  2C3 

ing  and  anxiety  for  hor  father's  sake  might  well  account  to 
him  for  her  sad  looks.  After  the  fii-st  clasp  of  their  hands 
he  knew  that  the  vows  hitherto  imspoken  mast  now  bo  ful- 
filled. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


&11AEME  did  go  to  j\Ii'.s.  Eoxbuvy's  piii-ty,  and  it  hap- 
pened in  this  way.  The  invitations  had  been  sent  out 
before  Mr.  Elphinstoms's  short,  sharp  ilhicss,  anc^  Lilias  had 
been  made  very  useful  by  her  aunt  on  the  oecasion.  She 
had  not  been  consulted  about  the  scnchuj:^  of  CJraeuie's  invi- 
tation, or  probably  Rose  would  have  had  one  too,  but  by 
good  fortune,  as  she  declared,  Ciraenie's  refusal  came  ih'st  to- 
her  hand,  and  the  little  lady  did  a  most  unprccedcnt<Kl  thinj^'. 
She  put  it  quietly  into  her  pocket,  and  going  homo  that  night 
by  the  Elhott's,  ventiu*ed  to  expostulate. 

"  Fu'st,  you  must  promise  not  to  bo  vexed,"  and  then  she 
showed  the  note.     Graeme  looked  gi'avo. 

"  Now  you  must  not  be  angiy  with  mo.  Rosio,  tell  her 
not  to  be  vexed,  bccausp,  you  know  you  can  wi'ito  another 
refusal,  if  you  arc  deteranincd.  But  I  am  sure  you  wUl  not 
be  so  cruel.  I  can't  t(}ll  you  any  reason,  except  that  I  have 
set  my  heart  on  yoiu*  being-  there,  and  you  '11  come — to  please 
mo,  will  you  not  V" 

"  To  please  you,  ought  to  be  sufficient  reasons,  I  know," 
said  Graeme,  smiUng.  And  Lihas  knew  she  had  prevailed 
with  her  fncnd.  She  saw  the  acceptance  written,  and  carried 
it  off  to  place  it  with  dozens  of  others,  in  the  hands  of  INIrs. 
lioxbiu'y.  She  did  not  say  much  to  Graeme  aljout  it,  but 
to  Rosie,  she  triumphed. 

*'  I  want  Aunt  Roxbiu'y  to  see  Graeme  looking  her  very 
best.  Graeme  will  look  like  a  queen  among  us.  Aunt  will 
SCO  that  Allan  and  I  have  good  reasons  for  oiu*  admiration. 
Fancy  any  of  these  tnimpery  people  patronizing  Graeme ! 
But  you  are  not  to  tell  her  what  I  say.     You  don't  think  sho 


JANETS  LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


Ln;5 


WRH  really  vexed  with  me,  do  you  ?  And  she  luunt  w«>iir  her 
now  peach-blossom  silk.     I  am  so  f^lad." 

liut  poor  little  Lilian  ^vc•nt  thrnu^'h  deep  waters,  bf^Con.'tho 
peach-blossom  sillc  was  worn  by  Graeme.  Mr.  E>[)hiustone 
was  broujj^ht  very  near  the  gates  of  death,  and  anxicjus  day ,4 
and  ni<jhts  were  i^assed  by  his  daughter  at  his  bedside.  !!\Irs. 
lloxbury  would  have  recalled  her  invitations,  and  Lilias* 
soul  sickened  at  the  thought  of  the  entertainment ;  but 
when  the  in)mcdiate  danger  was  over,  events  fell  into  their 
usual  channel,  and  though  she  gave  no  more  assistance,  either 
by  word  or  deed,  her  aunt  counted  on  her  presence  on  tho 
ogcasion,  and  even  her  father  insisted  that  it  was  right  for 
hor  to  go. 

"And  so,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Roxbury,  "as  yom*  father 
and  I  see  no  improi^riety  in  your  coming,  there  can  ho  none, 
and  you  will  enjoy  it,  indeed  you  will.     You  are  tired  now." 

"  Impropriety  !  it  is  not  that.  I  don't  wish  to  go.  I  can- 
not bear  the  thought  of  going." 

"  Nonsense  !  vou  are  overtired,  that  is  all.  And  Mr.  Ruth- 
ven  will  be  here  by  that  time,  and  I  depend  on  you  to  bring 
him." 

But  if  Allan's  presence  had  depended  on  Lilias,  ]\L.'s.  Rt/::- 
bui'y  would  not  have  seen  him  in  her  splendid  rooms  that; 
night.  It  was  INIr.  Elphinstone  that  reminded  her  of  tho 
note  that  awaited  the  retmTi  of  her  cousin,  and  it  was  he 
who  insisted  that  they  should  appear,  for  at  least  an  Iv  .\\r 
or  two,  at  the  party.  And  they  went  together,  a  little  con- 
strained and  uncomfortable,  while  they  were  alone,  but  to  all 
appearance  at  their  ease,  and  content  with  one  another 
when  they  entered  the  room.  Graeme  saw  them  the  moment 
they  came  in,  and  she  saw,  too,  many  a  significant  glance 
exchanged,  as  they  made  their  way  together  to  ]\L*,s.  Rox- 
bury. 

Lilias  saw^  Graeme  almost  as  soon.  She  was  standing 
near  the  ft)lding  doors,  seemingly  much  int(^restcd  in  \\hat 
Mr.  Proudfute,  her  brother's  friend,  was  sayuig  t(i  her. 

"There,  aunt,"  said  Lilias,  eagerly,  when  the  greetings 
12 


I'-' 

,1 


I 


1 


r 


2G6 


JANKT  S    T.oVK    AND   >r,iaiCi:. 


I 


'  t 


11 


i 

t 

! 

1 

f 

i 

1 

1 

li 

woro  over,  "  did  I  not  toll  you  thai   my  IVimd  ]\riMs  lilliott, 
would  C('lii)sc  III!  hero  to-in<;lit  V  Look  at  licr  now." 

"My  dear,"  Hiiid  her  aunt,  "she  dixs  Ixttcr  tliun  tliaf. 
Slio  is  vory  lovely  and  lady-like,  and  tries  to  ecliiiHO  no  one, 
ftnd  HO  wiuH  all  hearts." 

Lilias'  eyes  sparkh^d  as  she  looked  lit  her  cousin,  hut  ho 
did  not  eateh  her  look. 

"  My  dear,"  continued  jMra.  Roxhuiy,  "I  have  news  for 
you,  but  [K'rhaps,  it  is  no  news  to  you.  Ah !  he  has  found 
her." 

Mr.  Ehas  Green  was  at  the  moment,  niakin{^  his  bow  to 
Graeme.  • 

"There  was  no  truth  in  the  rumor,  about  him  and  little 
Miss  Grove.  '  .rccn  hiis  more  sense.  Your  friend  is  for- 
tunate Lilias." 

Lilias  looked  at  her  aunt  in  astonishment,  but  nothing" 
more  could  be  said,  for  tliere  were  more  arrivals,  and  her  at- 
tention was  claimed. 

"  Aunt  Roxbuiy  docs  not  know  what  she  is  ta".in,t»'  about," 
said  she,  to  her  cousin,  as  he  led  her  awav.  "  The  idea  of 
Mr.  Green's  darin<t  to  lift  his  cjes  to  Graeme  Elliott.  She 
would  not  look  at  him." 

"  Ml*.  Green  is  a  gi'eat  man  in  his  own  circle,  I  can  assure 
you,"  said  I\Ir.  Ruthven.  "  ^Nliss  Elliott  will  be  thou;^;ht  for- 
tunate by  peopk^  generally." 

"  Do  you  tliink  so  ?  You  know  very  little  about  her,  if  you 
think  that,"  said  Lilias,  impatiently. 

"I  know  ]Mr.  Green  better  than  most  people  do,  and  I  re- 
spect him — and  he  is  verv'  ricli " 

"  Oh!  don't  talk  folly,"  cried  Lilias.     "  I  have  no  patience 

with  people  who  tliink,  because  a  man  is  rich ,   But  you 

don't  know  Graeme,  cousin  Allan — I  thon.i^'lit " 

They  were  very  near  Graeme  by  this  time.  She  turned  at 
the  moment,  and  greeted  them  frankly  cnouf^h,  as  far  as  any 
one  could  see.  She  noticed  the  cloud  on  Lilias'  f;vce,  and 
'.'.sked  her  if  she  was  quite  well;  she  expressed  pleasure  at 


JANKT.S    I-OVK    ANI>   SKIiVICK. 


207 


tho  rotuni  of  Mr.  Ivuthvcii  too,  but  hIio  did  not  moot  liis  oyo, 
t.liou,.(li  li(!  told  lur  ho  liiid  Ktcii  lior  brotlior  Nonuiiu  ut  a 
Kt.'itioii  l»v  till!  way,  and  dctaiiu'd  her  to  j^ivo  lior  a  iiiiisHn^^o 
tliat  ho  liad  Hont.  Ho  had  Hchoolod  huusolf  woU,  if  h(!  was 
roally  as  nninovcd  l)y  tho  words  Of  Mrs.  Roxhury  and  Lilias, 
ftH  to  his  cousin  ho  a])poarod  to  bo.  But  ho  was  not  a  num 
wlio  h't  his  thou^^'hts  write  tlionisohcs  on  liis  face,  and  she 
ini}i;ht  oasily  bo  doccivod.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  nioniout,  it 
was  a  very  bitter  moment  indeed,  to  him,  when  with  a  smilo 
to  them,  (IraeiiK^  jHaccd  lier  hand  on  tho  wiUin*!;  arm  of 
I^rr.  (Ireeii,  and  walked  away  "like  a  (luoen"  he  said  to  him- 
self, but  to  his  cousin  lu;  said — 

"  My  fiiend  will  be  a  very  happy  man,  and  your  friend 
may  be  liappy  too,  let  us  hope." 

But  Lilias  never  answered  a  word.  She  followed  them 
•with  her  oy(  s,  till  they  tlisappeared  throu;,'h  the  door  that 
led  to  tho  room  beyond,  and  then  she  said  onlv, 

"I  have  made  a  f^reat  mistake." 

Had  she  made  a  mistake  or  had  he?  A  mistake  never  to 
be  luidonc,  never  outlived — a  mistake  for  (iraeme,  for  him- 
fiolf,  perhaps  for  Lilias  too.  It  was  not  a  thouj^^ht  to  bo 
borne,  and  he  put  it  from  him  sternly,  saying  it  could  not 
have  been  otherwise — nothiufj  could  bo  changed  now  ;  and 
he  was  very  {jfontle  and  tender  with  his  litth)  cousin  that 
night  and  afterwards,  saying  to  himself  that  she,  at  least, 
should  have  no  cause  to  grieve  in  the  futui'c,  if  his  having 
care  for  her  could  avail. 

About  this  time  "SVill.  was  threatened  with  a  serious  illness. 
It  did  not  prove  so  serious  as  they  at  first  feared,  but  it  was 
long  and  tedious,  and  gave  his  eldest  sister  an  excuse  for 
denying  herself  to  many  who  called,  and  accounted  for  her 
pale  looks  to  tliose  whom  she  was  obliged  to  see.  Li  tho 
silence  of  her  brother's  sicli-room,  Graeme  looked  a  great 
sorrow  in  the  face.  In  other  circumstances,  with  the  neces- 
sity laid  upon  her  to  deci-ive  others,  she  might  for  a  time 
have  deceived  herself ;  for  the  kno\\ledge  that  one's  love  has 


Hi 


<  ) 


I 


268 


JANKT  8   LOVE   AND   8I:RVICE. 


Ul' 


been  pivcn  unsoup;lit,  is  too  l)itt(>r  to  bo  accepted  willingly. 
But  th(^  misery  of  those  long  silent  nights  made  plain  to  her 
what  theiirst  sharp  pang  hail  failed  to  teach  her. 

Li  tlio  iirst  agony  of  her  self-seorn,  she  saw  herself  without 
excuse.  She  was  hard  and  bitter  to  herself.  She  might 
liavo  known,  she  thought,  how  it  was  with  Allan  and 
his  cousin.  Dming  all  those  years  in  which  she  had  becu 
a  stranger  to  them  both,  they  had  loved  each  other  ;  and 
now,  with  no  thought  of  her,  they  loved  each  other  still.  It 
was  natmal  that  it  should  be  so,  and  ri^jht.  ^Vhat  was  she, 
to  think  to  come  between  them  with  her  lovo  ? 

She  v.as  vciy  bitter  to  herself  and  unjust  in  her  first 
misery,  but  her  feeling  ciianged.  Her  heart  rebelled  against 
her  own  verdict.  She  had  not  acted  an  unmaidenly  jiarfc  in 
the  matter.  She  had  never  thought  of  hann  coming  to  her, 
or  to  anyone,  out  of  the  pleasant  intercom'se  of  these  months 
— the  renewal  of  their  old  friendship.  If  she  had  sinned 
against  Lilias,  it  had  been  unconsciously.  She  had  never 
thought  of  these  things  in  those  days. 

If  sho  had  only  known  him  sooner,  she  thought,  or  not 
so  soon,  (.r  not  at  all !  How  should  she  ever  bo  able  to  see 
them  again  in  the  old  unrestrained  way  ?  How  should  sho 
be  able  to  live  a  Ufe  changed  and  empty  of  all  pleasure  ? 

Then  she  gi-cw  bitter  agahi,  and  called  herself  hard 
names  for  her  folly,  in  thinking  that  a  change  in  one  thing 
nmst  change  all  her  life.  Would  not  the  passing  away  of 
this  vain  dream  leave  her  as  rich  in  the  love  of  brothers  and 
sister  as  ever?  Hitherto  th(ur  love  had  sufficed  for  her 
haiipinosH,  and  it  should  stQl  sufKce.  The  world  need  not 
be  changed  to  her,  because  she  had  wished  for  one  thing  thnt 
she  could  not  have.  She  could  be  f:-eed  from  no  duty,  iVb- 
solved  from  no  obligation  Ix'cuise  of  this  ])ain  ;  it  wan  a  i>art 
of  her  life,  which  sh(>  must  accept  and  make  the  best  of,  as 
tjhe  did  of  all  other  things  tliat  came  upon  her. 

As  she  sat  one  night  thinking  over  the  ])ast  and  the  future, 
wearily  enough,  but  without  the  power  to  withdraw  her  mind 
fi'om  what  was  sad  in  them,  there  suddenly  came  back  to 


s^  '^<i^ 


jani:t  s  lovi:  and  service. 


209 


her  ono  of  Janet's  short,  sharj)  speccbca,  spoken  in  answer  to 
a  declaration  half  vcxeil,  half  mirthful,  made  hy  her  in  tho 
days  when  the  mild  Mr.  Foster  had  aspired  to  be  more  to 
her  than  a  friend. 

"  My  dear,"  slie  had  said,  "  bide  tUl  your  time  comes.  You 
arc  but  a  v.oman  like  the  lave,  and  you  maim  thole  the  brunt 
of  what  life  may  brin<^'.  Love  !  Ay  will  you,  and  that  with- 
out leave  asked  or  given.  And  if  you  got  love  f<ir  love, 
you'll  thank  God  humbly  for  one  of  his  best  gifts  ;  and  if 
you  do  not — well,  He  can  brinfj  you  through  without  it,  as 
He  has  done  many  a  one  1><  fore.  Uut  never  think  you  can 
escape  your  fate,  and  make  Che  best  of  it  when  it  comes." 

"  And  so  my  fate  has  found  me,"  munnui-ed  Graeme  to 
herself.  "  This  is  part  of  my  life,  and  I  must  make  the  best 
of  it.     Well,  he  can  bring  me  through,  as  Janet  said." 

"Graeme,"  said  Will.,  suddenly,  "what  are  you  thinking 
about  ? " 

Graeme  started  painfully.  She  had  quite  forgotten  Will. 
Those  bright,  wakeful  eyes  of  his  had  been  on  her  many  a 
time  when  slie  thought  he  was  asleep. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  about  ?  You  smil od  fu'st,  then 
you  sighed." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  either  smiling 
or  sighing.  I  was  thinking  about  Janet,  and  about  somc- 
thhig  that  she  said  to  me  once." 

She  r^so  nnd  arranged  the  pillows,  stooping  down  to  kiss 
her  biotiie*  as  she  did  so,  and  then  she  said  sadly, 

"1  an  afraid  vou  are  not  much  bettor  to-night,  Will." 

*  \os  ;  1  think  I  am  better.  i\Iy  head  is  dearer.  I  have 
been  watching  your  face,  Gracn)e,  and  tliinking  how  weary 
and  ill  you  look." 

"lam  tired  AVili.,  Imt  not  ill."  Graeme  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  her  face  havirig  been  watched,  but  she  spoke 
cheerfully. 

"  I  have  been  a  girat  trouble  to  you,"  said  Will. 

"Yes,  indeed!  a  dreadful  trouble.  I  hope  you  are  not 
going  to  try  my  patience  much  longer." 


'i 


I 


11 


270 


.iani:ts  Lovi;  and  skuvick. 


"  I  don't,  Icnow.  I  liopo  nof,  foi*  yonr  sako."  And  then  in 
a  liltlo  Will,  added,  "Do  vou  know,  (inKMuCj  I  vm  beginning' 
•to  1)0  ^Lid  of  this  illness  at'ler  uU." 

(ira( ;'.!(  lau;^hed. 

"  W(>11.  if  you  are  ^lad  oi  it,  I  will  try  and  bear  it  i)ationtly 
a  little  l(.n<j;er,  I  daresay  wo  aro  takini;  the  veiy  host  moans 
to  prolon"^  it,  chattering-  at  this  unrcasonaMe  hour." 

"I  am  not  sleepy,"'  said  Will,  "and  I  am  not^resth^ss 
either.  [  think  I  am  really  better,  and  it  will  do  mo  ^'ood  to 
have  .1  litth?  tallc  ;  l)ut  you  aro  tired." 

"  I  am  tin  (1,  but  I  am  not  slee[<y.  Besides,  if  yoii  aro 
n^illy  betl'T,  I  can  sle<^p  for  a  week,  if  I  liko.  So,  if  it  bo  a 
pleasure  to  you  sj^eak  on." 

"What  was  it  that  .Jan(>t  said  tliat  mado  you  sigh  so 
drearily  just  now?  "  ask«(l  Will. 

(Jraemo  would  have  liked  tlio  conversation  to  tako  any 
other  tiUMi  rather  than  that,  but  she  said,  jj^ently, 

"I  think  my  smik'  nuist  have  been  for  what  Janet  said. 
I  am  snre  I  lauL(hed  heartily  enoujjfh  when  slie  said  it  to 
me  so  lonj^  aj^o.  I  su]>pose  I  si^^hi'd  to  Hunk  that  what  she 
Siiid  has  come  true." 

"What  was  it,  (iraenu^':'" 

*'  Oh '.  I  can  hardly  tell  you — something'  about  the  chanpfos 
that  come;  to  us  as  wo  ^'ow  older,  and  how  vain  it  is  to  think 
we  can  avoid  v)ur  fate." 

"Our  fate?"  repeated  Will. 

"  Oh,  j'es !  I  moan  there  are  troubles — and  pkvisuros,  too, 
that  we  can't  foresee^ — that  take  us  at  unawiuvs,  and  wo  havo 
just  t()  mak(>  the  ho)d  of  them  when  they  com(>, 

"I  don't  thiidi  I  quite  understand  you,  (li-a(MU(\" 

"No,  I  daresavnot  ;  and  it  is  not  al)S()lutely  necessary  that 
you  should, — in  the  conn(H'tiou.  IJut  I  am  sure  .a  jj^vat  many 
pleasant  things  that  wo  did  not  expect,  have  liappened  to  u.s 
Binc(>  W(>  came  Ium'c.*' 

"  And  was  it  thinkin*,'  of  these  pleasant  thinj^'s  that  mado 
you  sirjh  ?  "  a^kod  Will. 

'•  No.     I  am  afraid  I  waa  thinkhiir  of  tho  other  kind  of 


I 


JANKT  S    F.OVK    AM)    SKItVICK. 


271 


surprises  ;  aiitl  I  (liircKuy  I  lm<l  (luito  us  inxwh  rcison  to  srailo 
as  to  si,L,Oi.  We  vau'i  tell  our  ti-iuls  fit  lirst  si<(lit,  "Will.,  nor 
our  lilfssiii<',H  ci.hcr.  'Jiiiio  cluuif^cs  their  I'iu-cH  woiulci'l'ully 
io  us  iis  t!u!  ycais  ^'o  on.  At  liny  r.'itc  Janet's  advico  in 
ahviiAs  a]i]>ropriatc'  ;  wo  must  make  the  best  of  thorn  when 
they  conu,-." 

"  Yes,"  said  A\'ill.,  doubtfully  ;  he  did  not  quite  understand 
yet. 

"For  insiaiH'c,  "Will.,  you  were  disconsolate  enough  when 
the  docto)'  told  you  must  <^ive  up  your  books  for  an  indclmito 
time,  and  now  you  arc  professing  yourself  quite  conteru  with 
heada.-lio  and  \vat(T-gruel — glad  oven  at  the  illness  that  at 
tii'st  was  so  hard  to  bear." 

Will,  made  a  face  at  the  gruel  she  presented. 

'M  dure  say  it  is  good  for  me,  though  I  can't  say  I  like  it, 
or  the  lie  idaclie,  IJiit,  (iraemo,  I  did  not  get  tliis  check  be- 
fore I  netiiled  it.  It  is  jiloasaut  to  be  lirst,  jind  I  was  begin- 
ning to  lik"  it.  Now  this  ju'ccious  month  taken  from  mc,  at 
the  iim<!  I  needed  it  most,  will  ])ut  me  back.  To  be  sure," 
addiM I  ]'.(>,  with  adeprecaiing  glance^  "it  is  not  much  to  be 
first  among  so  fi;\v.  J3ut  as  -Janet  used  to  say,  Pride  is  an 
ill  weed  and  grows  (^asily — llourishes  even  on  a  barren  soil  ; 
and  in  the  j)leasure  au'l  excittiment  of  study,  it  is  not  difli- 
cult  to  i\)rget  that  it  is  only  a  means  to  an  end." 

"  Yes,"  said  (lraem{>,  "it  is  (>asy  to  forget  what  we  ought 
ton'membei-." 

But  it  came  into  AVill.'s  mind  that  her  sympathy  did  not 
come  so  readily  as  usual,  tliat  her  thougiits  were  elsewhere, 
and  he  ha<l  ii  feeling  that  they  were  such  iis  he  was  not  to  bo 
permitted  to  sluuv.     In  a  litth;  he  said, 

"  ( Iraeme,  I  should  like  very  nuu'li  to  go  h(mie  to  Scot'and." 

(jlraenu!  roused  herslf  and  answered  cheerfiillv, 

"Yes,  I  have  never  (|iiite  given  up  the  lio[)e  of  j^'oing  homo 
again  ;  but  wo  should  lind  sud  (;hanges,  Idoul)l." 

"J>nt  I  mean  I  should  like  to  go  home  soon.  Not  for  the 
sake  of  Clayton  and  our  friends  tliere.  I  would  hke  to  go  to 
fitmvself  better  for  llie  work  I  have  to  do  in  the  world." 


'Wm  SI 


m 


«    ! 


1.1 
i 


m 


Mr 


!       it' 


272 


JANI;T  8    LOVE   AXD   SERVICE. 


"  You  mean,  you  would  like  to  f^n  borne  to  study." 

"  Yes.  One  must  liavo  a  far  better  opportunity  there,  and 
it  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  'thoroughly  furnished.'  "*  There 
was  a  pause,  and  then  he  added,  "  If  I  go,  I  ought  to  go  soon 
— within  a  year  or  two,  I  mean." 

"  01),  "Will.,  how  could  I  ever  let  you  go  av.ay  ?  " 

"  ^Viiy,  (Jraeme!  that  is  not  at  all  liki,'  you  ;  you  could  let 
me  gi)  if  it  were  right.  But  I  have  not  (juite  decided  that  it 
is  not  selfish  in  me  to  ^v.ish  to  go." 

"  But  why  V  asked  Graeme. 

"Partly  because  it  would  be  so  pleasant.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  Janet;  used  to  say,  we  arc  not  so  hkely  to  see  all 
sides  of  what  we  dt^su'c  vei  •  mn'-h,  Perhaps  I  desu'e  it  more 
for  the  pleasure  it  would  give  me,  than  for  the  benefit  it 
might  be  to  me.  And  then  the  expense.  It  would  be  too 
much  to  expect  from  Ai-thur," 

"  But  there  is  the  Merleville  money.  It  Avas  meant  for 
Arthur's  education,  and  as  ho  did  not  need  it,  it  is  youi's." 

"  No,  that  belongs  to  you  and  Rose.  It  would  not  bo  right 
to  take  that." 

"  Nonsense,  Will.  "What  is  ours  is  yours  ;  if  the  expense 
wore  nil !  But  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  vou  tjoing  awav,  and 
HaiTy,  too,  perhaps." 

"  Hose  tolls  me  that  Harry  is  more  bent  on  going  West  than 
ever." 

"  Yes,  within  a  few  days  ho  has  become  cjuite  eager  about 
it.  I  cannot  undei>!tand  why  he  should  Ije  so.  Oh,  I  cannot 
feel  hoiieful  about  it." 

"  Ai-thur  thinks  it  may  be  a  good  thing  for  Harry,"  said 
Will. 

"  Yef5,  for  some  things  I  suppose  so.  But,  oh  I  Will..  I  could 
not  let  tiarry  go  as  I  could  let  you,  siu'o  that  he  would  be  kept 
safe  tUl— " 

Graeme  laid  her  lu^ad  down  on  her  brother's  pillow,  and  the 
tears  she  had  been  struggling  with  for  so  long  a  time  burst 
forih.  She  had  never  spoken  to  Will,  of  her  fears  for  Harry, 
but  he  Iniew  that  they  all  had  had  cause  for  anxiety  on  his 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


273 


account,  so  instcarl  of  speaking  ho  laid  liis  arm  over  his  sisters 
neck.     She  stnigglcd  with  herself  a  moment,  unable  to  speak. 

"draeine,"  said  Will.,  softly,  "we  cannot  keep  Ilany  safe 
from  evil,  and  lie  who  can  is  able  to  keep  him  safe  there  as 
well  as  lu'i'c." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  say  it  to  myself  twenty  times  a  day.  That 
is,  I  say  it  in  words  ;  but  I  do  not  seem  to  get  the  comfort  I 
might  from  them." 

"l>ut,  flracMUP,  Harry  has  been  very  little  away  this  winter, 
and  I  had  thought — " 

"  I  know,  dear,  and  I  have  been  quite  hopeful  about  him 
till  lately.  But,  (ih,  AVill. !  it  won't  bear  talking  about.  Wo 
can  only  wait  patiently." 

"Yes,  (iraeme,  wo  can  jiray  and  trust,  and  you  are  ex- 
aggerating to  yourself  Harry's  danger,  I  think.  Wliat  has 
hap])ened  to  make  you  so  faint-hearted,  dear?" 

"  What  should  have  ha}>pened,  Will,  i  I  am  tu'ed — for  one 
thmg — and  something  is  wrong  I  know." 

She  paused  to  struggle  with  her  tears. 

"Somehow,  I  don't  feel  so  anxitnis  about  Hany  as  you  do, 
Graeme.  He  will  come  back  again.  I  am  sure  this  gi'eat  sor- 
row is  not  waiting  you." 

Ho  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added,  hesitatingly, 

"  I  have  had  many  thoughts  since  I  sat  down  here,  f  Iracmo. 
I  think  oDC  needs — it  does  one  good,  to  make  a  pause  to  liavo 
time  to  look  back  and  to  look  forward.  Things  change  to  us  ; 
we  get  clearer  and  truer  views  of  life,  alone  in  the  dark,  with 
nothing  to  withdraw  our  thoughts  from  the  right  and  the 
wrong  of  things,  and  we  seem  to  see  more  clearly  how  trm;  it 
is,  that  though  wc  change  God  never  changes.  We  get  cour- 
age to  look  oiu"  troubles  faii'ly  hi  the  face,  wlien  wo  are  alono 
with  God  and  them." 

Still  (Jraemo  said  nothing,  and  Will,  added, 

"(iraeme,  you  must  take  hope  for  Harry.  And  there  is 
nothing  else,  is  there? — nothing  that  you  arc  afraid  to  look  at 
— nothing  that  you  cannot  bring  to  the  one  i^lace  for  hglit  and 

help?" 

12* 


!l 


274 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


'^■it 


II  • 


Slio  (lid  not  answer  f(»r  u  ininuto. 

"  No,  \Vill.,  1  hope  not.  I  think  not  I  daresay — 1  ajn  quite 
sure  that  all  wiJlho  for  the  best,  and  I  shall  soo  at  sonio  time." 

Not  another  word  was  said  till  (Iraonio  rose  and  drawin<jf 
aside  the  curtahis,  let  in  on  them  the  iliiu  dawn  of  a  bleak 
]Mareli  niornui«]f. 

In  a  few  more  days  "Will,  was  down  stairs  a<]fain.  Not  in  his 
accuHtomed  eorncT  anionjif  his  books,  i)ut  hi  the  annehair  in 
the  wannest  j)la('t>  by  the  lir(>,  made  nnich  of  by  Rose  aJid 
thcni  all.  It  seemed  a  lon<^  time  since  he  had  been  amonij^ 
them.  A  good  many  things  had  happened  during  the  month 
that  (iraeme  and  he  had  passed  tt)gether  up  stairs.  Maich, 
that  had  come  in  "  like  a  lion  "  was  hastening  out  "  like  a 
lamb  ; "  the  sky  was  eh^ar  and  the  au*  was  mild  ;  spring  was 
not  far  away.  The  sjiow  lay  still  in  sullied  ridges  in  the  naiTow 
streets  where  the  sun  had  little  power,  and  the  nnul  lay  deep 
in  the  streets  where  the  snow  had  nearly  disappeared.  But 
the  i)avcments  were  dry  and  clean,  and  in  spite  of  dirty  cross- 
ings and  mud  bespattering  carriages,  they  were  thronged 
with  gay  promenaders,  eager  to  welcome  the  spi'ing.  Those 
who  were  weathorwi^e  shook  their  heads,  declaring  that  hav- 
ing April  in  INIarch  would  ensm'o  ^lan^h  weather  when  April 
came,  or  it  might  be  even  in  May.  So  it  might  prove,  but 
there  was  all  the  more  need,  because  of  this,  that  the  most 
should  be  made  of  the  sunshine  and  the  mild  air,  and  even 
thcii*  (juiet  street  was  (juito  gay  with  the  meiTy  goers  to  and 
fro,  and  it  seemed  to  Will,  and  (Iraeme  that  more  than  a 
month  had  passed  since  his  illness  began. 

Harry  had  quitt;  decided  to  go  West  now,  and  was  as  eager 
and  impatient  to  be  gone  as  if  he  had  all  his  life  been  (hi'eam- 
mg  of  no  other  future  than  that  which  awaited  him  there. 
That  he  should  be  so  glad  to  go,  pained  his  sister  as  much  as 
the  thought  of  his  going.  That  was  at  first,  for  it  did  not 
take  Graeme  long  to  (hscover  that  Harr}'  was  not  so  gay  as 
he  strove  to  appear.  But  her  misgivings  as  to  his  depart, m*o 
were  none  the  less  sad  on  that  accoimt,  and  it  was  with  a 
heavy  heart  that  she  hstened  to  his  plans. 


JANKT  S    L«)Vi:    AM)    SKllVICK. 


275 


PorliJips  it  was  in  foutmst  to  ILiiTy's  rather  ostrntatiouH 
mijth  tlial  his  IViciid  Ch;irli(!  ^Millar  scona^tl  so  very  f^-avo  on 
the  first  iii'^ht  thai  Will,  voiiiiirod  to  proh)!!;^'  liis  ntny  uinoii^ 
tliciii  al'l.ir  tho  ^'as  hud  hcun  h;4hl(!tL  lloso  was  «,a"av(',  too, 
and  not  at  case,  thou^^h  siio  Htrov(5  to  liide  it  by  joining''  in 
Harry's  i'lirth.  Charlie  di<l  no£  strivo  to  hiih)  his  <.;ravity,  hut 
sat  silent  and  Ihoiij^htrul  after  his  lirst  }^Tc(;tin;^'s  \v<;ro  ovoi'. 
Even  Harry's  niirth  failed  at  last,  and  he  leaned  hack  on  tho 
sofa,  shiidin^^  his  J'aec  with  his  hands. 

"I  am  afraid  yonr  l)r()ther  would  tliink  uh  very  unfjrateful 
if  ho  eovild  sec;  how  hudly  we  art!  thanking  him  for  hin  great 
kindness  lo  li.iri'y." 

(Jraenie  forced  herself  to  say  it.  Allan's  name  had  not 
been  inenticjned  among  them  for  days,  and  tho  sihtneo,  at  fiTHt 
gi'atefnl,  had  come  to  seem  strange  and  unnatural,  and  it 
made  (Iraeme's  cheeks  tingle  to  thiidc  what  might  Ix)  tho 
cause.  Ho,  looking  into  Charhe's  face  with  a  Knii]((,  she  spoko 
to  him  about  his  broiher.  But  Chailio  did  not  answer,  or 
Graeme  did  not  hear,  and  in  a  little  while  she  said  again, 

"Is  Mr.  Jhithven  still  in  town':'" 

"Oh!  yes.     It  is  not  likely  he  will  leave  agahi  soon." 

"And  yom-  uncle  is  really  recovering  from  his  last  attack? 
AVhat  an  anxious  time  ^liss  Elphinstono  nuist  nave  had  !  " 

"Yes,  ho  seems  better,  and,  contrary  to  all  expectation, 
seems  likely  to  live  for  some  time  yet.  But  his  mind  is  much 
afl'ected.     At  least  it  seems  so  to  me." 

"  Poor  Lilias !  "  said  Oraeme,  "  Is  she  still  alone  V  " 

"Oh,  no.  There  is  a  houseful  of  them.  Her  aunt  Mrs. 
Roxbury  is  there,  and  I  do}i't  know  how  many  besides.  I 
declare,  I  think  these  women  enjoy  it." 

(iraeme  looked  shocked. 

"  Charlie  means  the  pri'i)arations  for  the  wediling,"  said 
Rose.     "  It  is  to  take  })la('o  soon,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  AVithin  the  monlli  I  believe,"  said  Charlie,  gravely. 

"So  soon!"  said  (Iraeme  ;  and  in  a  little  she  added,  "  Is  it 
not  sudden ':' " 

"No — yes,   I  snppose  s(j.     They  have  been  engaged,  or 


ill  I 


i;  t 


1 


L>ro 


JANKT8    LOVE   AND    SEUVU'K 


somotliinpf  like  it  for  some  limo  ;  but  the  haste  is  because  of 
Ml-.  Elphinstoiie.  He  thinks  he  cuiinot  die  hiippy  till  he 
scoH  his  daughter  safe  under  the  care  of  her  husband.  Just 
as  if  Allan  would  not  bo  her  fiiend  all  the  same.  It  seems 
to  nie  like  madness." 

'•  And  Lilias,"  said  Hose,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  is  she  con- 
tent?" 

"  On  the  whole,  I  suiipose  so.  But  this  haste  and  her 
fatluT  being  so  ill,  and  all  these  horrid  preparations  are  too 
nni(!h  for  her.     She  looks  ill,  and  an}i;hing  l)ut  cheerful." 

"  Wo  have  not  seen  your  brother  for  a  long  time,"  said 
Will. 

"  I  have  scarcely  seen  him,  either.  He  did  not  find  matters 
much  to  his  mind  in  C.  I  fear.  Harry  will  have  to  keej^  his 
eyes  oiien  among  those  people." 

"  How  soon  will  Hany  have  to  go  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  I  suppose,"  said  Charlie,  rising  and 
walking  about.  "  Oh !  dear  me.  This  is  a  miserable  overtura- 
ing  that  has  come  upon  us — and  everything  seemed  to  bo 
going  on  so  smootlily." 

"  Harry  will  not  have  to  go  before  Arthur  comes  back,  I 
hope,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  don't  know,  uideed.     \\Tieu  docs  he  come  ?  " 

"  Charlie,  man,"  said  Harry,  rising  suddenly,  "  did  I  not 
hear  you  j)romising  Crofts  to  meet  him  to  night?  It  is 
eight  o'clock." 

"  No.  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  Crofts  or  any  of  his  set 
again.     You  had  much  better  stay  where  you  are  Harry." 

"  Charlie,  don't  be  misanthropical.  I  promised  if  you  did'nt. 
Come  along.  No  ?  Well,  good  night  to  you  all.  Will.,  it  is 
time  you  were  in  bed,  your  eye:^  are  like  saucers.  Don't  sit 
up  for  me,  Graeme." 

Graeme  had  no  heart  to  remonstrate.  She  felt  it  would 
do  no  good,  and  he  went  away  leaving  a  very  silent  party 
behind  him.  Charlie  lingered.  "NMien  Graeme  came  down 
stairs  after  seeing  Will,  in  his  room  she  foimd  him  still 
sitting  opposite  Rose,  silent  and  gi'ave.     He  roused  himself 


:;i 


JANETS   LOVE   AND  8KRVICE. 


277 


as  she  entered,  rrraonic  would  Kindly  have  cxcuaod  him,  but 
she  tf  ok  a  scat  and  her  work,  and  prepared  to  be  entertain- 
ed. It  was  not  an  easy  matter,  thouf^di  Cliarlie  had  the  best 
will  in  the  world  to  be  entertainiuji?,  and  (Jraeme  tried  to  re- 
spond. She  did  not  thuik  of  it  at  the  time,  but  afterwards, 
when  Charlie  was  f(one,  she  remembered  tlui  sad  wistful 
h)ok  with  which  tlie  lad  had  rej^arded  her.  Itose  too,  hnn;j; 
about  her,  sayin;^  nothin;^-,  but  with  eyes  full  of  somethinjj;  to 
which  (Jraeme  would  not  respond,  (hie  an%ny  thr;)l)  stirred 
her  heart,  but  her  next  thou<,'hts  were  not  in  an;j;er, 

"  These  foolish  young  people  have  been  dreaming  dreams 
about  i\Jlan  and  me, — and  I  must  un  lecoivo  them — or  de- 
ceive them — " 

"  Graeme,"  said  Rose,  softly,  "  if  either  of  us  wait  for  I  Tar- 
ry it  must  be  me,  for  you  are  veiy  tired." 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  tii'ed." 

"  Cliarhe  said,  perhajjs  he  would  take  Harry  home  with 
him.     Should  we  wait? "  said  Rose. 

"  No.  He  may  not  come.  We  will  not  wait.  I  shall 
sleep  near  Will.     He  cannot  spare  me  yet.     Now  go  love." 

She  kissed  the  troubled  face  upturned  to  her,  but  would 
suffer  no  lingering  over  the  good-night.  She  was  in  no  haste 
to  go  herself,  however.  She  did  not  mean  to  wait  for  Har- 
ry, but  when  two  hours  had  passed,  she  was  still  sitting  where 
Rose  had  left  her,  and  thgn  Harry  came. 

But  oh  !  the  misery  of  that  home  coming.  Graeme  nmst 
have  fallen  asleep,  she  thought,  for  she  heard  nothing  till  the 
door  opened,  and  then  she  heard  Harry's  voice,  thick  and 
interiaipted,  Ihankhig  some-one,  and  then  stupidly  insisting 
on  refusing  all  further  help. 

"Never  mind,  gentlemen — I  can  manage — thank  you." 

There  were  two  persons  with  him,  Charlie  Millar  was  one 
of  them. 

*'  Hush,  Harry.  Be  quiet,  man.  Are  you  mad  ?  You 
will  waken  your  sister." 

The  light  which  some-one  held  behind  them,  flushed  for  a 
moment  on  Graeme's  pale  face. 


i     i 


t« 


278 


JANKTS    LOVK    A^'D   SKEVICE. 


U 


*'01i!  lMis«  laiiott,"  siiid  Clifirli'M,  "I  tried  to  keep  him 
■with  1110.     ]lo  is  iu!i<l,  I  think.     13o  quiet,  Hiu'ry." 

lliirry  (luito  iiicupjil)!*!  of  wiilkin;^'  Ktriii;:,''ht,  strupf^led  to 
free  hiiusoh"  and  stii^^'^^Tcd  toward  his  sister. 

"  I  knew  you  would  sit  up,  (Iraeme — thou<^h  I  told  you 
not — mid  so  I  ejinu!  home." 

"Of  eonrso,  you  did  ri^j^ht  to  come  liomo.  But  hush,  Har- 
ry! you  will  waken  AVill." 

"  Oh  !  yes !  Pcjor  AVill !  "  he  nuinibled.  "  But  Graonio 
■what  ails  you,  that  you  look  at  me  with  a  face  like  thatV" 

" IMiss  Elliott,"  entreated  Charlie,  '"leave  him  tons,  you 
can  do  nothinjjf  with  him  to-nij^ht." 

She  wimt  uj)  stairs  before  them  carrying  the  lij^ht,  and 
lield  firmly  the  handle  of  Will's  door  till  they  passed.  She 
stood  there  m  the  darkness  till  they  came  t)ut  again  and  went 
downstairs.  Poor  Harry  lay  muttering  and  mumbling,  en- 
treating Graeme  to  come  and  sec  him  before  she  went  to 
bed.  "When  she  heard  the  door  close  she  went  down  again, 
not  into  the  parlor  where  a  light  still  burned,  but  into  tho 
darkness  of  tho  rooju  beyond. 

"Oil  Harry!  Harry!  Harry!"  she  cried,  as  she  sank  on 
lier  knees  and  covered  her  face. 

It  was  a  dark  hour.  Her  hope,  her  faith,  her  trust  in  God 
— all  that  had  been  her  strength  and  song,  from  day  to  day, 
was  forgotten.  The  bitter  watery  of  fear  and  gri(>f  passed 
over  her,  and  she  was  well  nigh  ovt>r\\  helmed. 

"Oh  papa  !  mamma  !  Oh  Harry  !  Oh!  my  little  brothers." 

"]\Iiss  Elliott,"  said  a  voice  that  made  her  henrt  stand  still, 
"  Graeme,  j'ou  must  let  me  help  you  now." 

She  rose  and  turnod  toward  him. 

"Mr.  lluthvcn !  I  was  not  aware — "  said  she,  moving  to- 
ward tho  door  through  which  light  came  from  the  parlor. 

"  Miss  Elliott,  f(.)rgive  me.  I  did  not  mean  to  intrude.  I 
met  your  brother  and  mine  by  chance,  and  I  came  with  them. 
You  must  not  think  that  I — "' 

"  Thank  you,  you  are  very  land." 


JANKt's   love   AJfD  SERVICK. 


27'J 


\t 


Grftomo  wan  tniuMiiijf  greatly  and  sat  down,  but  roso 
aj^ain  iiniiiGcliatcly. 

"  You  arc  very  kind,"  ropoatud  she,  scarcely  knowing  what 
she  said. 

"  (Iracnio,"  said  ^Ir.  Ruthven,  "you  must  lot  mo  help  you 
in  this  matter.  Tell  ma  what  you  wish.  IMust  Hany  stay 
or  go?" 

Graeme  sank  down  with  a  cry,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Oh!  Harry!  Hany!" 

Mr.  Ruthven  made  one  step  toward  her, 

*'  IMiss  Elhott,  I  dare  not  say  to  you  that  you  think  too 
severely  of  Harry's  fault.  But  he  is  young,  and  I  do  not 
really  fear  for  him.  An<l  you  have  more  cause  to  bo  hopeful 
than  L  Think  of  your  father,  and — yoiur  father's  God. 
Graeme,  be  sure  HaiTy  will  come  back  to  you  again." 

Graeme  sat  still  with  her  head  bowed  down. 

"  Graeme — Miss  Elliott.  Tell  mo  what  you  would  have 
me  do." 

Graeme  rose. 

"  You  are  very  khid,"  she  repeated.  "  I  cannot  think  to- 
night.    "Wo  must  wait — till  Arthiu*  comes  home." 

He  went  up  and  down  the  room  several  times,  and  thou 
came  and  stood  by  her  side  again. 

"  Graeme,"  said  ho,  in  a  low  voice,  "let  me  hear  you  onco 
say,  that  you  believe  me  to  be  your  true  and  faithful  friend." 

"  Why  should  I  not  say  it,  Allan.  You  are  my  true  and 
faithful  fi-iond,  as  I  am  yom-s." 

Her  voice  did  not  tremble,  and  for  a  moment  she  calmly 
met  his  eye.  Ho  turned  and  walked  away,  and  when  ho 
came  back  again  he  held  out  his  hand  and  said, 

"  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  said  Graeme. 

*'  And  you  will  see  about  Harrs' — what  you  wish  for  him." 

"Yes.  Good-bye." 

He  raised  the  hand  ho  held  to  his  lips,  and  then  said, 
«  Good-bye." 


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CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  next  few  days  were  weary  ones  to  all.  Will,  had 
reached  that  stage  of  convalescence  m  wliich  it  was  not 
easy  to  resign  himself  to  utter  idleness,  and  yet  he  had  not 
strength  to  be  able  to  occui^y  himself  long  without  fatigue  ; 
and  in  the  effort  to  amuse  and  interest  him,  Graeme's  spirits 
flagged  sadly.  She  looked  so  exhausted  and  ill  one  day  when 
the  doctor  came  in,  that  he  declared  that  "Will,  must  be  left 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  Kose,  while  her  sister  went  first  for 
a  walk  in  the  keen  morning  air,  and  then  to  her  room  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  It  is  possible  that  solitude  and  her  own 
thoughts  did  Graeme  less  good  than  attendance  on  "Will, 
would  liiive  done,  but  doctors  camiot  be  supposed  to  know 
everything  ;  and  even  had  he  known  all  there  was  to  account 
for  her  hot  hands  and  pale  cheeks,  it  is  doubtful  whether  his 
skill  could  have  suggested  anything  more  to  the  purpose  than 
his  random  prescription  was.  At  any  rate,  Graeme  was  thank- 
ful for  a  few  days'  quiet,  whether  it  was  good  for  her  or  not ; 
and  in  the  mean  tune  Hose  and  Will,  got  on  very  well  without 
her. 

And  Ilariy — poor,  unhappy,  repentant  Harry,  trpng  under 
A  mask  of  sullen  indiflerenee  to  hide  the  shame  and  mi[,ery  he 
felt  iit  the  remembrance  of  that  night — these  were  dreary  days 
to  him.  Graeme  never  spoke  to  him  about  that  night.  She  had 
not  the  courage,  even  if  she  had  felt  not  that  it  would  be  better 
not  to  do  so.  The  preparations  for  liis  dcpartm'e  went  on  slowlj*, 
though  it  was  becommg  doubtful  whether  he  should  go  West 
after  all.  He  said  little  about  it  himself,  but  that  little  it  was 
not  pleasant  for  Graeme  to  hear. 

Much  to  the  surprise  of  everj-one,  and  to  the  extreme  in- 
(280) 


JAXET  S    LOVE   AND   SEitVICE. 


281 


di^^ation  of  Harry,  jVIi".  Rutlivcii  bad  again  left  tovm,  sayiiif,' 
notlring  of  his  destination  or  the  Icngtii  of  his  stay,  only  in 
very  brief  fashion,  telling  him  to  make  no  fm-thor  arrange- 
ments for  his  departure  until  his  return. 

"  He  does  not  trust  me.  He  does  not  think  mo  lit  to  take 
charge  of  his  affau's,"'  said  Harry  to  himself,  v.ith  his  vague 
remembrance  of  Alhm's  share  in  the  ev(;nts  of  that  miserai)lo 
night,  ho  could  hardly  wonder  that  it  should  bo  so,  and  in 
his  shame  and  impatience  he  was  twenty  times  on  the  point 
of  breaking  his  connection  with  his  employ ei's,  and  going  his 
own  way.     However,  he  forced  himself  to  wait  a  little. 

"  If  I  am  sent  West  af.er  all,  well  and  good.  If  not  I  shall 
remain  no  longer.  The  change  of  arrangements  will  bo 
sufficient  excuse,  at  least  I  will  make  it  so.  I  can't  stuj, 
and  I  won't.  If  he  would  but  come  back  and  put  an  end  to 
it  all." 

And  Harry  was  not  the  only  one  who  was  impatient  under 
the  unreasonable  al^sonce  of  !Mr.  Ruthven.  Poor  Mr.  El- 
phmst(me,  ill  and  irritable,  suffered  not  an  hour  to  pass 
without  vexing*  himself  and  others,  wondering  at,  and 
lamenting  his  delay.  Lilias  had  much  ado  to  keep  him 
from  saymg  angry  and  bitter  things  about  his  nephew,  and 
exaggerated  the  few  details  she  had  gathered  v.ith  regard  to 
their  recent  losses,  in  order  to  account  to  him  for  Allan's  un- 
timely devotion  to  business.  Poor  girl,  she  looked  sad  and 
ill  in  these  days,  and  gi-ew  irritable  and  mireasonable  amid  the 
preparations  of  Mrs.  lloxbiu'y,  in  a  way  that  shocked  and 
alarmed  that  excellent  and  energetic  lady.  She  considered 
it  a  very  equivocal  proof  of  Lihas'  love  to  her  father,  that  she 
should  be  so  averse  to  the  caiTving  out  of  his  express 
wishes.  There  had  been  nothing  that  is  proper  on  such  an 
occasion,"  and  Mrs.  Roxbury  seemed  bent  on  fulfilling;  his 
wishes  to  the  very  letter.  So,  at  last,  Lilias  was  fain  for  the 
sake  of  peace  to  grow  patient  and  grateful,  and  staid  more 
and  more  closely  in  her  father's  room,  and  her  aunt  had  her 
will  in  all  things  that  cxmcenied  the  wedding,  that  under  such 
melancholy  circumstances  was  di-awing  near. 


II' 


•i  I    *l 


M 


1 

it 

I!  M!| 


I  \'% 


n: 
4 


it 


'■  ^' 


'■ 


OS'> 


.lANF.Trf    LdVK    AND   Hl.IiVICK. 


"  nmomo,"  Hiiiil  Ilarrv,  oiio  ni^-'lit,  wlicn  llioy  wcro  sitting 
to^'ctlur  jit'tci-  (lie  rest  liad  all  ^one  up  stairs,  "don't  you 
tliiuU  wo  liavobccn  nncoiufortal)!!!  lou^  t'liou^hV  Don't  you 
tliiuk  you  have  <^'ivcn  us  cnou^li  of  thiit  niiscral)l(',  liopclc!  s 
face  for  oni!  occasion?  •  I  tliink  a  dian^^o  would  be  agreeable 
to  all  coneonied.     It  would  to  mo,  at  any  rate." 

(rraonio  was  so  startled  at  this  spoceli,  that  for  a  little  she 
could  not  say  a  word.  Then  she  said  something-  about  beinj^ 
tired  and  not  very  well — and  about  its  being  impossible 
always  to  help  one's  looks. 

"  AVhy  don't  you  say  at  once  that  it  is  I  who  have  made 
you  so  miserable — that  you  have  lost  all  faith  in  mo — that  I 
am  going  straight  to  ruin.  That  is  what  you  mean  to  say — 
you  know  very  well." 

"  Harry,"  said  she,  gently,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  say  any- 
thing unkind." 

Harry  left  his  seal,  and  threw  himself  oji  the  sofa  with  a 


groan. 


*'  If  you  would  only  rate  a  fellow  soundly,  Graeme !  If  you 
would  only  tell  me  at  once,  what  a  weak,  jtitiful  wretcli  you 
tliink  me !  I  could  bear  that ;  but  youi*  silence  and  that 
miserable  face,  I  cannot  bear." 

"I  cannot  say  I  think  you  weak  or  pitiful,  Harry.  It 
would  not  bo  true.  And  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  hke 
my  rating  bettor  than  my  silence.  I  can  only  say,  I  have  had 
less  com'age  in  thuiking  of  yom*  going  awa}-^  to  till  an  impor- 
tant and  responsible  situation,  since  that  night." 

Harrv  "jfroanod. 

" Oh  !  v.ell ;  don't  l)other  yourself  about  my  going  away, 
and  my  responsibilities.  The  chances  arc  some  one  else  will 
have  to  fill  the  important  situation." 

"  Have  you  seen — has  Mr.  lluthvcn  returned  ?  " 

"  ]\Ir.  liuthvcn  has  returned,  and  I  have  seen  him,  but  I 
have  not  spoken  with  him.  It  was  not  his  will  and  pleasure 
to  saj'  luiything  to-night  about  that  which  has  boon  keeping 
mo  in  such  miserable  suspense.     He  was  engaged,  forsooth, 


JANET  t^    LOVK    AND   SEIlVICi:. 


283 


wlicn  a  mouKmt  would  have;  settled  it.     Well,  it  docs  not 
matt(T.     I  shall  lake;  tlio  decision  into  my  own  handn." 

"  What  do  yon  nicran,  lEariy  V  " 

"I  mean,  I  shall  {^ivc  up  my  siluaticm  if  he  does  not  send 
me  West — if  he  hesitates  a  moment  about  sendinj^  me,  I  shall 
leave  his  employment." 

"But  why,  Harry?" 

"  Because — because  I  am  determined.  Ruthven  does  not 
think  me  fit  to  be  entrusted  with  the  management  of  his 
affairs,  I  suppose." 

"  Harry,"  said  his  sister,  gravely,  "  is  it  surprising  if  ho 
does  not?" 

"  Well,  if  I  am  not  to  be  trusted  there,  neither  am  I  to  bo 
tnisted  here,  and  I  leave.  Graeme,  you  don't  know  what  j'ou 
are  talking  about.  It  is  quite  absurd  to  suppose  that  what 
happened  that  night  would  make  any  difference  to  Allan 
Ruthven.  You  think  him  a  saint,  but  trust  me,  he  knows  by 
experience  how  to  make  allowance  for  that  sort  of  thing.  If 
he  has  nothing  worse  than  that  against  any  one  in  his  em- 
ployment, ho  may  tliink  himself  fortimato." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  say  ho  does  not  trust  yort  ?  " 

"  I  shall  call  it  sufficient  evidence  that  he  does  not,  if  he 
di'aws  back  in  this.  Not  that  I  caro  much.  I  would  rather 
be  in  the  employment  of  some  one  else.     I  shall  not  stay  here." 

"Harry,"  said  Graeme,  coming  quile  close  to  the  sofa  on 
which  he  had  throwii  himself,  "  what  has  happened  between 
you  and  Allan  Ruthven." 

"  Hai:)pened  !  What  should  have  happened  ?  What  an 
absurd  question  to  ask,  Graeme." 

"  Harry,  why  are  you  so  determined  to  leave  him  ?  It  was 
not  so  a  little  while  ago." 

"Was  it  not?  Oh,  well!  I  daresay  not.  But  one  wants 
a  change.  One  gets  tired  of  the  same  dull  routine  always. 
Now,  Graeme,"  added  he,  as  she  made  an  incredulous  gesture, 
"  don't  begin  to  fancy  any  mysteiy.  That  would  be  too  ab- 
surd, you  know." 


P  f 


I  ''1 


m 


3    ' 

i   i 


284 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


1    :        |i 


Graeme  came  and  knelt  close  beside  him.  His  face  was 
turned  away  so  tliat  she  could  Dot  S(.'C  it.  Her  own  was  very 
pale. 

"  Harry,  speak  to  me.  Do  you  believe  that  iUlan  Ruthven 
is  otherwise  than  an  honorable  and  upri^dit  j^fcutleman  in 
business  and — in  other  matters?     Tell  me,  Harry." 

"Oh,  yes!  as  gentlemen  go.  No,  (iraeme,  that  is  not 
riglit.  I  believe  him  in  all  things  to  be  upright  and  honorable. 
I  tlunlc  more  highly  of  him  than  I  d'd  at  first.    It  is  not  that." 

The  color  came  slowly  back  to  Graeme's  face.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  Harry  had  no  foohsh  thoughts  of  her  and  Allan. 
In  a  little  she  said, 

'  And  you,  Harry — you  hav3  not — you  are — " 

"  I  hope  I  am  an  honorable  man,  Graeme,"  said  Harry, 
gravely.  "  There  is  nothing  between  Mr.  Ruthven  and  me.  I 
mean,  he  does  not  wish  me  to  leave  hun.  But  I  must  go, 
Graeme.     I  cannot  stay  here." 

"  Harrj',  why  ?  Tell  me."  Graeme  laid  her  hand  caress- 
ingly on  his  hail'. 

"  It  is  nothing  that  I  can  tell,"  said  Harry,  huskily. 

"  Harry — even  if  I  caimot  helj)  it,  or  remove  it — it  is  bet- 
ter that  I  should  know  what  is  making  you  so  unhappy. 
Hany,  is  it — it  is  not  Lilias  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  her. 

"  Harry,  Harry !  Do  not  say  that  tliis  great  sorrow  has 
fallen  upon  us,  upon  you,  too." 

She  drew  back  that  he  might  not  feel  how  she  was  trem- 
bling.    Ill  a  Httle  she  said, 

'•  Brother,  speak  to  me.  ^Miat  shall  I  say  to  you,  my  poor 
Harrv?" 

But  Harry  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  comforted.  He  rose 
and  confi'onted  her. 

"I  think  the  most  appropriate  remark  for  the  occasion 
would  be  that  I  am  a  fool,  and  deserve  to  suffer  for  my  folly. 
You  had  better  say  that  to  me,  Graame." 

But  something  in  his  sister's  face  stopped  him.  His  lips 
trembled,  and  he  said, 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


285 


"At  an}'  rate,  it  isn't  -worth  your  looking  so  miserable 
abont." 

"  Hush,  Harry,"  whispered  she,  and  he  felt  her  tears  drop- 
ping on  his  hands.     "  And  Lilias  ?" 

"  Graeme,  I  do  not  know.  I  never  spoke  to  her,  but  I 
hoped — I  believed  till  lately — ." 

He  laid  his  head  down  on  his  sister's  shoulder.  In  a  little 
ho  roused  himself  and  said, 

"  But  it  is  all  past  now — all  past ;  and  it  won't  bear  talking 
about,  even  with  you,  Graeme,  who  arc  the  dearest  and  best 
sister  that  ever  unworthy  brother  had.  It  was  only  a  dream, 
and  it  is  past.  But  I  cannot  stay  here — at  least  it  Avould  bo 
very  much  better — " 

Graeme  sighed. 

"  Yes,  I  can  understand  how  ii,  should  seem  impossible  to 
you,  and  yet — but  you  are  light.  It  won't  bear  talking 
about.  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  comfort  you,  dear,  except 
to  wait,  and  the  j)ain  may  grow  less." 

No,  there  was  nothing  that  Graeme  could  say,  even  if 
Harry  would  have  hstened  to  her.  Her  own  heart  was  too 
heavy  to  allow  her  to  think  of  comfort  for  him  ;  and  so  tliey 
sat  in  silence.  It  seemed  to  Graeme  that  she  had  never  been 
quite  miserable  until  now.  Yesterday  she  had  thought  her- 
self wretched,  and  now  her  burden  of  care  for  Harry  was 
pressing  with  tenfold  weight.  Why  had  this  new  misery 
come  upon  her  ?  She  had  been  unhappy  about  him  before, 
and  now  it  was  worse  vnih  him  than  all  he."  fears. 

In  her  misery  she  forgot  many  thmgs  that  might  have 
comforted  her  with  regard  to  her  brother.  She  judged  him 
by  herself,  forgetting  the  difference  between  the  woman  and 
the  man — between  the  matiu'e  woman,  wJio  having  loved 
vainly,  could  never  hope  to  dream  the  sweet  dream  again, 
and  the  youth,  hardly  yet  a  man,  sitting  in  the  gloom  of 
a  first  sorrow,  with,  it  might  well  be,  a  long  bright  futui-e 
stretching  before  him. 

Sharp  as  the  ])ain  at  her  own  heart  was,  she  knew  she  should 
uot  die  of  it.    She  took  no  such  consolation  to  herself  as  that. 


I 


I  i] 


280 


JANET  .S    LOVE   A.ND    SKRVlCi:. 


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Slio  knew  she  nnis't  live  the  old  coininon  life,  liidintjf  first  tho 
fvesU  wound  and  Uion  the  scar,  only  ho[)iiijjf  that  as  the  years 
went  on  tlie  pain  niij^lit  grow  less.  She  accepted  tlie  lot. 
She  thought  if  ihe  darkness  of  her  life  never  cast  a  shadow 
on  the  lives  t)f  those  she  loved,  she  -svould  strive,  with  Ood'a 
help,  to  1)0  contented. 

But  Harry — poor  I  Tarry !  hitherto  so  careless  and  light- 
hearted,  how  was  he  to  bear  tho  sorrow  that  had  fallen  upon 
him  ?  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  in  her  love  and  pity  for 
her  brother,  Graeme  failed  to  see  how  dilil'rent  it  might  bo 
with  him.  Harry  would  hardly  have  borne  to  be  t;>ld  even 
by  her  that  his  sorrow  would  pasaaway.  Tlio  commonplacca 
supposed  to  1)0  appropriate  about  time  and  change  and  pa- 
tience, would  have  been  unwelcome  and  irritatbig,  even  from 
his  sister's  lipp,  and  it  was  all  the  better  that  Graeme  should 
sit  there,  thinking  her  own  di'eary  thoughts  in  silence.  After 
the  momentary  pahi  and  shame  whioli  the  betrayal  of  his 
secret  had  caused  him,  there  was  a  certain  consolation  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  his  sister's  sympiithy,  and  I  am  afraid, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  that  Graeme  that  night  sufiered 
more  for  Harry  than  Han-y  suffered  for  himself.  If  she 
looked  back  with  bitter  regTet  on  the  vanished  dream  of  the 
last  six  months,  it  was  that  night  at  least  less  for  her  own 
sake  than  for  his.  If  from  the  future  that  lay  before  them 
she  shrank  appalled,  it  was  not  because  tho  di-eariness  that 
must  henceforth  be  on  her  life,  but  because  of  something 
worse  than  di'eariness  that  might  be  on  the  life  of  her  brother, 
unsettled,  almost  reckless,  as  he  seemed  to  be  to-night.  She 
could  not  but  see  the  danger  that  awaited  him,  should  he 
persist  in  leaving  home,  to  cast  himself  among  strangers. 
How  gladly  would  she  have  borne  his  trouble  for  him.  She 
felt  that  going  away  now,  ho  would  have  no  shield  against  the 
temptation  that  had  of  late  proved  too  strong  for  him  ;  and 
yet  would  it  be  really  better  for  him,  could  she  prevail  upon 
him  to  stay  at  home?  Remembering  her  "own  impulse  to  bo 
away — anywhere — to  escape  fi-om  tho  past  and  its  associa- 
tions, she  could  not  wonder  at  his  wish  to  go.     That  the  bit- 


.fANKT  ;•;    r.oVK    AN'D    SKUVfCK. 


2S7 


3011 

bo 
cia- 
bifc- 


tcnicss  of  tliG  pain  would  par^s  away,  slio  ]i()[)e(l  and  Ixlirvcd, 
but  v.onld  ho  ■wait  Avitli  patience  the  eoiuin^jf  of  content.  Alas ! 
hei*  fear.s  w  v^j  !-;tron;,^ei'  than  licr  hopes.  Best  L^ive  hiui  into 
(iod's  keepiii;^'  and  let  liiin  <^o,  she  thorijj^lit. 

*'  But  ho  lunst  not  leave  Mr.  lluthvcn.  That  will  make  him 
no  better,  but  worse,  lie  must  iKjt  j^o  from  ns,  not  knowing 
whither.     Oh,  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do !" 

The  next  day  the  decision  was  made.  It  would  iKjt  bo 
tnie  to  say  that  Harry  was  quite  calm  and  at  his  ease-that 
mornin^^  Avhen  he  obeyed  a  suinnions  into  ]\Ir.  lliithven's 
l)rivate  room.  There  was  more  need  for  Charhci's  ''  ke(;p  cool, 
old  fellov/,"  than  Ciiarlie  knew,  for  Harry  had  that  morning 
told  Graeme  tl^tit  before  ho  saw  her  fiico  again  ho  would  know 
whether  ho  was  to  go  or  stay.  In  spite  of  himself  he  felt  a 
little  soft-hearted,  as  he  thought  of  what  might  be  the  result 
of  his  interview,  and  ho  was  glad  tliat  it  wiis  not  his  friend 
Allan,  but  Mr.  Kulhven  the  merchant,  ])rief  and  business-like 
in  all  ho  said,  whom  he  found  awaitiiig  him.  He  was  busy 
with  some  one  else  when  Hany  entered,  talking  coolly  and 
rapidly  on  business  matters,  and  neither  voice  nor  manner 
changed  as  he  turned  to  him. 

There  was  a  good  deal  said  about  matters  that  Hairy 
thought  might  very  well  have  been  kept  till  another  time  ; 
there  were  notes  compa]-ed  and  letters  read  and  books  exam- 
ined. There  were  some  allusions  to  past  transactions,  in- 
quu'ies  and  directions,  all  m  the  fewest  possible  words,  and  in 
the  quietest  manner.  Hany  replied,  assented  and  sug^'cstod, 
making  all  the  time  the  strongest  eifc^rt  to  appear  as  there 
was  notlnng,  and  could  be  nothing,  beyond  these  dull  details 
to  interest  him. 

There  came  a  pause  at  last.  Mr.  lluthvcn  did  not  say  in 
words  that  he  need  not  wait  any  longer,  but  his  manner,  as  ho 
looked  up,  and  turned  over  a  number  of  letters  that  luid  just 
been  brought  in,  said  it  plainly.  Indexed,  lie  tin-nod  fjuito 
away  fi'om  him,  and  s(H'mc<l  al^soibesl  in  liis  occupation. 
Harry  waited  till  the  lad  that  ])rought  in  the  letters  had 
mended  the  firo,  and  fidgeted  about  the  room,  and  gone  out 


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288 


JAXKT  S    LOVE   AND   SEUVICE. 


again  ;  llion  ho  «ai(l,  in  a  voice  that  ought  to  have  been  quiet 
and  ih'in,  for  he  took  a  }2^reat  deal  of  jiains  to  make  it  so, 

"  ]Mr.  liuthvcn,  may  I  trespass  a  moment  on  your  vakiable 
time  noii'f" 

INIr.  liuthven  immediately  laid  his  letters  on  the  table,  and 
turned  round.  Harry  thought,  like  a  man  who  found  it  neces- 
sary to  addi'oss  hims^^lf,  once  for  all,  to  the  performance  of 
an  unpleasant  duty.  Certainly,  ho  had  time  to  attend  to 
anything  of  importance  that  Mr.  Elliott  might  have  to 
say. 

*'  It  is  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  mc,  and  I  have  been 
led  to  suppose  that  it  is  of  some  consequence  to  you.  The 
Western  agency " 

"  You  are  right.  It  is  of  great  consequence  to  the  firm. 
There  is,  perhaps,  no  immediate  necessity  for  deciding " 


"  I  bog  your  pardon,  sir,  there  is  absolute  necessity  for  my 
knowing  at  once,  whether  it  is  yom*  pleasure  that  I  should 
be  employed  in  it." 

*'  Will  a  single  day  make  much  diftcrence  to  you  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Ruthven,  looking  gravely  at  the  young  man,  who  was 
certainly  not  so  calm  as  he  meant  to  be. 

"  Excuse  mo,  sir,  many  days  have  passed  since. — But,  Mr. 
Ruthven,  it  is  better  I  should  spare  you  the  pain  of  sajing 
that  you  no  longer  consider  me  fit  for  tlie  situation.  Allow 
me,  then,  to  inform  you  that  I  wish — that  I  no  longer  wish 
to  remain  in  your*  employment." 

"  Hany,"  said  IVIr.  Ruthven,  gravely,  "  does  your  brother — 
does  vour  sister  know  of  your  desu'o  to  leave  me ?  Would 
t\iQ:y  approve,  if  you  were  sent  AVest  ?  " 

"  Pardon  mo,  Mr.  Ruthven,  that  question  need  not  be  dis- 
cussed. I  must  be  the  best  judge  of  the  matter.  As  for 
them,  they  were  at  least  reconciled  to  my  going  when  you — 
drew  back." 

Mr.  Rutliven  was  evidently  uncomfortable.  He  took  up 
his  bundle  of  letters  again,  murmuring  something  about  their 
not  wishmg  it  now. 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Harry,  with  a  very  palo  face. 


jankt's  lovk  and  service. 


•289 


face. 


"  Allow  mo  to  say  that  a.s  koou  as  you  can  supply  iny  pla-jc — 
or  at  oucc,  if  you  like — I  must  go." 

But  Air.  Ruthvcn  was  not  listening  to  him.  He  had  turned 
over  his  letters  till  a  little  note  among  them  attracted  his  at- 
tention. Ho  broke  the  seal,  and  read  it  while  Hariy  was 
speaking.  It  was  very  brief,  only  three  words  and  one  mitial 
letter. 

*'  Let  HaiTy  go. 

G." 

He  read  it,  and  fielded  it,  and  laid  it  down  with  a  sigh. 
Then  he  tm-ncd  to  Harry,  just  as  ho  was  laying  liis  hand  on 
the  door. 

"  What  is  it,  I  lai'iy  ?    I  did  not  hoar  what  you  wcro  saying." 

"I  merely  said,  sir,"  said  Harry,  turning  round  and  facing 
him,  "  that  as  soon  as  you  can  supply  my  place  in  the  office, 
I  shall  consider  myself  at  liberty  to  go." 

"  But  why  should  you  wish  to  go  ?  " 

"  There  are  several  reasons.  One  is,  I  shall  never  stay  any- 
where on  sufferance.  If  I  am  not  to  be  trasted  at  a  distance, 
I  shall  certainly  not  stay  to  give  my  employers  the  trouble 
of  keeping  an  eye  upon  me." 

His  own  eye  flashed  as  he  sjjoke. 

"But,  Harry,  man,  that  is  nonsense,  you  know." 

It  was  not  his  master,  but  liis  fiiend,  that  spoke,  and  Haiiy 
was  a  little  thrown  off  his  guard  by  the  change  in  his  tone. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  nonsense,"  said  he. 

"  Hariy,  I  have  not  been  thinking  of  myself  in  all  this,  nor 
of  the  interests  of  the  firm.  Let  me  say,  once  for  all,  that  I 
should  consider  them  perfectly  safe  in  your  hands,  in  all  re- 
spects.  Harry,  the  world  would  look  darker  to  me  the  day 
I  could  not  tmst  your  father's  son." 

Harry  made  no  answer. 

"  It  is  of  you  I  have  been  thinking,  in  the  hesitation  that 
has  seemed  so  um*easonable  to  you.  Harry,  when  I  think 
of  the  home  you  have  here,  and  of  the  wretehed  changed 
hfe  that  awaits  you  there,  it  seems  selfish — wrong  to  wish  to 
scad  you  away." 
1.3 


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JANKl  rt    l,u\i;    AND    MIKVKi:. 


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I 


TTaiTV  lujido  II  pfcstni'c  of  <lis;u'iit,  and  nmllcn'd  Hoinctliing 
about  tlui  iiiipossibilily  of  stiiyiiijjf  iilw.ivs  iil  Iiouk". 

"I  know  it,  u\y  I;i<l,  but  llu^  loiij^cr  vou  cuu  stiiv  at  lioiiio 
— Kuch  II  lioiii(>  as  yours — llu;  bcttci".  When  I  think  of  my 
own  lifo  tliciv,  tlic  lirst  inisc-rablo  yoai'H,  and  all  tli(!  evil  I 

have  isocu  kIuco .     AVcll,  tilers  is  no  use  in  ;;niij^  over  all 

that.  But,  Harry,  it  v>ould  break  your  sister's  heart,  were 
you  to  chant^e  into  a  hard,  sellish,  worldly  man,  like  the  rest 
of  us." 

There  was  nothinp;-  Harry  eould  say  to  this. 

"So  many  fail  in  the  slrupi'j^le — so  many  are  chanfifed  or 
ruined.  And,  dear  lad,  you  have  one  lempiation  tliat  never 
was  a  tomptatio!!  to  me.  Don't  b(>  an/ijrv,  ifarry,"  for  Harry 
started  and  f;T«'w  red.  "Even  if  tliat  is  not  to  be  feared  for 
you,  there  is  enou^li  besides  to  make  you  hesitate.  I  liavo 
known  and  proved  the  world.  ^Vhat  we  call  snecoss  in  life, 
is  not  worth  one  approvin.L^  smile  fi-om  your  sister's  lips. 
And  if  you  should  fall,  and  be  trodden  down,  how  should  I 
ever  answer  to  lior?" 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  two  or  three  times. 

"Don't  f^'o,  Harry."  ]'\)r  Harry  had  risen  as  thou^^h  ho 
thought  tlio  intorvi(!w  was  at  an  end.  "You  said,  just 
now,  that  you  must  decide  for  j'oui'self,  and  you  shall  do  so. 
But,  consider  well,  and  consult  your  brother  and  sister.  As 
for  the  mterests  of  the  finn ,  I  have  no  fear." 

"I  may  eousider  it  settled  then,"  said  Harry,  huskily. 
"  Ai-thur  was  always  of  opinion  that  I  should  go,  and  Graeme 
is  willing  now.     And  the  sooner  the  better,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  The  sooner  the  better  for  us,  15ut  tjiere  is  time  enough. 
Do  not  bo  liasty  in  deciding." 

"I  have  decided  ah*eady.     I  thank  you,   sir, "     Ho 

hesitated,  hardly  knowing  v.hat  to  say  more. 

"  I  hope  it  will  prove  that  you  will  have  good  reason  to 
thank  me.  Remember,  Harry,  Avhatevcr  comes  out  of  this, 
you  left  us  with  my  full  and  entire  contidence.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve I  shall  have  cause  to  regret  it,  or  that  you  will  fail  me 
or  disappoint  me." 


to 


JANKT  rt    LOVE    AND   HKIJVICK. 


291 


Han-y  fp-aspnd  I  ho  liiiiid  hold  out.  to  him  without  u  word, 
but  iinviirdly  ho  vowed,  that  ooiuo  what  nii^^'ht,  th(;  ooiirnh-iKio 
HO  f^oiicrously  (wprcsHod  should  never,  for  good  cuuhu,  be  with- 
drawn. 

And  so  tJK!  decision  was  made.  AfUn-  Ihis  the  prei)arationM 
did  not  occupy  a  lonj^f  time.  The  second  da}- found  Ifarry 
r<'ady  for  depart  Mr(>. 

"(Jraeiiie,"  said  Ifarry,  "I  cannot  hv.  cont(;nt  to  take  nway 
with  mo  such  a  melancholy  remembrance  of  your  face.  I 
shall  begin  to  think  vou  are  not  willing  that  I  should  go  after 
all." 

"  You  need  not  think  so,  Han-y.  I  am  sure  it  is  best  since 
you  are  d(;termined.  But  I  cannot  but  look  m«;lancholy  at 
the  necessity.  You  would  not  have  mo  loo!-  joyful,  when  I 
am  going  to  lose  my  brother?  " 

"No — if  that  were!  all.  lint  you  have  oflcu  said  hcnv  im- 
possible  it  was  that  wo  shoulil  always  'r  op  togctlier  It  i.s 
only  what  we  have  been  expecting,  and  w(!  miglit  have  parted 
in  jiiurli  more  trying  circur^stanees.  I  shnU  Iju  homo  often 
— once  a  year  at  the  least ;  periiaps  oftoaer." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  there  is  no  cause  for  gi'ief  in  my 
going,  even  if  I  wore  worth}'  of  it,  wliich  I  very  much  doubt." 

Graeme's  face  did  not  brighten.  In  a  little  while  her  tears 
wx^re  falling  fast. 

"  (ilraemc,  what  is  it  V  There  i.-^  some  other  reason  for  your 
tears,  besides  my  going  a^vay.  You  do  not  tiiist  mc  Graeme, 
you  are  afi'aid." 

Graeme  made  an  effoi't  to  quiet  herself. 

"  Yes,  Harry,  I  am'  a  little  afraid,  since  you  give  mo  the 
opportunity  to  say  so.  You  have  hardly  been  our  o^vn 
Harry  f(3r  awhile,  as  you  know,  dear.  And  what  will  3'ou 
bo  A\hen  you  are  far  from  us  all  ?  I  am  afraid  to  k't  you  go 
from  mo,  Hariw,  far  more  afraid  than  I  should  be  for 
Will." 

Harry  rose  and  walked  about  a  while,  with  an  air  that 
Bocmod  to  be  indignant;  but  if  he  was  angry,  he  thought 


11 

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292 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SEEVICE. 


better  of  it,  and  in  a  little  he  came  and  sat  do^m  beside  his 
sister,  again. 

"I  ^visl!  I  could  make  you  quite  satisfied  about  me, 
Graeme." 

"  I  wish  you  could,  dear.  I  will  try  to  be  so.  I  daresay 
you  think  me  unreasonable,  Harry.  I  know  I  am  tu-ed,  and 
foohsli,  and  all  wrong,"  said  she,  trying  in  vain  to  keep  back 
her  tears. 

"  You  look  at  this  moment  as  though  you  had  very  httle 
hope  in  anything,"  said  Harry,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 

"  Do  I  ?  Well,  I  am  aU  Avrong,  I  know.  There  ought  to  be 
hope  and  comfort  too,  if  I  sought  them  right.  I  will  try  to 
leave  you  in  God's  keeping,  Harry,  the  keeping  of  our  father's 
and  our  mother's  God." 

Hany  tlu-ew  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  Graeme,  you  are  making  yourself  unhappy  without  cause. 
If  you  only  knew !  Such  tilings  arc  thought  nothing  of.  If  I 
disgraced  myself  the  other  night,  there  are  few  young  men 
of  our  acquaintance  who  are  not  disgraced."    • 

Graeme  put  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"  But,  Graeme,  it  is  true.  I  must  speak,  I  can't  bear  to 
have  you  fretting,  when  there  is  no  cause.  Even  Allan  Ruth- 
ven  thought  nothing  of  it,  at  least,  he •  " 

"  Hush,  Harry,  you  do  not  need  Mr.  Ruthven  to  be  a  con- 
science to  you.  And  it  is  not  of  the  past  I  am  thinking,  but 
the  future.  How  can  I  bear  to  think  of  you  going  the  way 
so  many  have  gone,  knowing  the  danger  all  the  greater  be- 
cause you  feel  yourself  so  safe.     I  am  afraid  for  you,  Harry." 

It  was  useless  to  speak,  she  knew  that  quite  well.  The 
words  of  another  can  never  make  danger  real,  to  those  who 
ai'e  assailed  with  poor  Hand's  temptation.  So  she  shut  her 
lips  close,  as  he  rose  from  her  side,  and  sat  in  silence  ;  while 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  By  and  by  he  came  back 
to  her  side,  again. 

"  Graeme,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  Indeed,  you  may  trust  me. 
The  shame  of  that  night  shall  never  be  renewed.     You  shall 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


293 


never  have  the  same  cause  to  bo  son*y  for  me,  or  ashamed 
of  me  again." 

She  put  her  arms  round  his  nock,  and  laid  her  head  down 
on  his  shoulder,  but  she  did  not  speak.  It  was  not  that 
she  was  altogether  hopeless  about  her  brother,  but  Harry 
imdcrstood  it  so. 

"  Graeme,  what  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  How  shall  I  give  you 
courage — faith  to  trust  me  ?  Graeme,  I  promise,  that  till  I 
see  you  again  I  shall  not  taste  nor  touch  that  which  so  de- 
graded me  in  yom*  eyes.  I  solenmly  promise  before  God, 
Graeme." 

"  Hany,"  said  his  sister,  "  it  is  a  vow — an  oath,  that  you 
have  taken." 

"  Yes,  and  it  shall  be  kept  as  such.  Do  you  tnist  me, 
Graeme  ?  Give  me  that  comfort  before  I  go  away." 

"  I  trust  you,  Harry,"  was  all  she  had  voice  to  say.  She 
clasped  him  and  kissed  him,  and  by  and  by  she  pi'ayed  God 
to  bless  him,  in  words  such  as  his  mother  might  have  used. 
And  Harry  vowed,  with  God's  help,  to  bo  true  to  himself 
and  her.  He  did  not  speak  the  words  again,  but  none  the 
less  was  the  vow  rcj^istercd  in  Heaven. 

That  was  the  real  farewell  between  the  brother  and  sister. 
Next  morning  there  was  little  said  by  any  one,  and  not  a 
word  by  Graeme,  but  the  last  gUmpse  Harry  had  of  home, 
showed  his  eldest  sister's  face  smiling  and  hopeful,  saying  as 
plainly  as  her  words  had  said  before, 

"  Hany,  I  trust  you  quite." 


,t 


fi       in 
^       I 

i 

5 


II 


j!  n 


T 


i 


'i 


1 1 II 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


I '   .':  ■  t 


THE  brilliant  sunlight  of  a  September  morning  was 
shining  full  into  the  little  breakfast  room,  whero 
Graeme  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  awaiting  the  coming  of 
the  rest.  The  morning  paper  was  near  her,  but  she  was  not 
reading;  her  hands  were  clasj)cd  and  rested  on  the  table, 
and  she  was  looldng  straight  before  her,  seeing,  probably, 
further  than  the  pale  green  wall,  on  which  the  sunshine  fell  so 
pleasantly.  She  was  grave  and  quiet,  but  not  in  the  least 
sad.  Indeed,  more  than  once,  as  the  voices  of  Rose  and 
Arthur  came  sounding  down  stau's,  a  smile  of  unmistakable 
cheerfulness  overspread  her  face.  Presently,  Arthur  entered, 
and  Graeme  made  a  movement  among  her  cups  and  saucers. 

"  Your  trip  has  done  j'ou  good,  Graeme,"  said  Ai*thur,  as 
he  sat  down  opposite  to  her. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  There  is  nothing  like  the  sea  breezes,  to 
fi'eshen  one.  I  hardly  know  myself  for  the  tu'cd,  exhausted 
creature  you  sent  away  in  June." 

Graeme,  Rose,  and  Will.,  had  passed  the  summer  at  Cacou- 
na.  Nellie  had  gone  with  them  as  housekeeper,  and  Arthur 
had  shut  the  house,  and  taken  lodgings  a  httle  out  of  town 
for  the  summer. 

•'  I  am  only  afraid,"  added  Graeme,  "  that  all  oiu^  pleasure 
has  been  at  the  expense  of  some  discomfort  to  you." 

"By  no  means,  a  change  is  agreeable.  I  have  enjoyed 
the  summer  very  much.  I  am  glad  to  get  home  again,  how- 
ever." 

"  Yes,  a  change  dees  one  good.     If  I  was  only  quite  at 
ease  about  one  thing,  we  might  have  gone  to  Merleville,  in- 
(294) 


i'    !H 


JAXKTri    LOVi:    AND    SKRVICK 


295 


stead  of  Cacoima,  and  that  %vould  have  given  Jauet  and  a 
good  many  others  pleasure."'  • 

"Oh!  I  don't  know,"  said  Arthur.  "The  good  people 
there  must  have  forgotten  us  by  this  time,  I  fancy.  There 
arc  no  sea  Ijrcczes  there,  and  they  were  what  you  needed." 

''^  Arthur !  Janet  forgotten  us !  Never,  I  am  quite  sui'e  of 
that.  But  at  the  time  it  seemed  impossible  to  go,  to  make 
the  cilbrt,  I  mean.  I  quite  slirunk  fi'om  the  thought  of  Merle- 
viUe.  Indeed,  if  you  had  not  been  fii'm,  I  fear  I  should  not 
have  had  the  sea  breezes." 

"Yes.  You  owe  me  thanks.  You  needed  the  change. 
What  with  Will.'s  illness  and  Harry's  going  away,  and  one 
thing  and  another,  you  were  quite  in  need  of  a  change." 

"  I  was  not  well,  certainly,"  said  Graeme.  "  Will,  has 
gone  to  the  post,  I  suj^pose '?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  who  entered  at  the  moment.  "  I  see  him 
coming  up  the  street." 

"  As  for  Kosie,"  said  Arthur,  lookmg  at  her  gi'avely,  as  she 
sat  down.  "  She  has  utterly  ruined  her  complexion.  Such 
fi'eckles  !  such  sunbmiiiu^ !  and  how  stout  she  has  grown !" 

Rose  laughed. 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  'm  a  fright.  You  must  bring  mo  some- 
thmg,  Arthur.     Toilette  vinegar,  or  something." 

"  Oh !  it  would  not  signify.     You  are  quite  beyond  all  that." 

"  Hero  comes  Will.,  with  a  letter  for  each  of  us,  I  declare." 

Arthur's  letter  was  soon  despatched,  a  mere  business  mis- 
sive. Graeme's  was  laid  down  beside  her,  while  slie  poured 
Will's  coffee.  Rose  read  her's  at  once,  and  before  she  was 
well  down  the  first  pnge,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  delight. 

"Listen  all.  No,  I  won't  road  it  just  yet.  Arthur,  d(m't 
you  remember  a  conversation  that  you  and  I  had  togetlier, 
soon  after  Sandy  was  here  ?" 

"  Conversation."  repeated  Arthur.  "  "We  have  talked,  that 
is,  you  have  talked,  and  I  have  listened,  but  as  to  conversa- 
tion   " 

"  But  Arthur,  don't  you  remember  saymg  something  about 
Emily,  and  I  did  not  agree  with  you  ?" 


I 


\    1 

if 


ll    I 


I        I 


:-\\  y 


290 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


■mt 


II 


s  ^ 


i': 


\\  r 


i  ii:: 


I  ',■ 


"  I  have  said  a  groat  many  times,  that  I  thought  Emily  a 
very  pretty  httle  trcaturc.  If  yon  don't  agi'ec,  it  shows  bad 
taste." 

"  I  quite  agree.  I  think  her  beautiful.  She  is  not  very 
little,  however.     She  is  nearly  as  tall  as  I  am." 

"  What  is  it.  Rose  V"  asked  Graeme,  stretching  out  her 
hand  for  the  letter. 

"You  '11  spoil  yom*  news,  with  your  long  preface,"  said  "Will. 

"  No,  but  I  want  Arthur  to  confess  that  I  am  wisest." 

"  Oh !  I  can  do  that,  of  course,  as  regards  matters  in  gen- 
era' ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  of  this  particular  case." 

"  Well,  don't  you  remember  saying,  that  you  did  not  think 
Sandy  and  Emily  would  ever  fall  in  love  ?" 

"  I  remember  no  such  assci-tion,  on  my  pai*t.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  remember  feeling  pretty  certain,  that  the  mischief 
was  done  already,  as  far  as  Sandy  was  concerned,  poor  fellow; 
and  I  remember  sajing  much  to  your  indignation,  '  more 's 
the  pity.' " 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  remember  you  said  it  would  be  just  like  a 
sentimental  little  blue,  lilvc  Emily,  to  slight  the  handsome, 
hearty  young  farmer,  and  marry  some  pale-faced  Yankee 
professor." 

"  You  put  the  case  a  httle  strongly,  perhaps,  said  Arthur, 
laughing.  "  But,  on  the  whole,  that  is  the  way  the  matter 
stood.     That  was  my  opiijion,  I  confess." 

"  And  they  are  going  to  be  married  !"  exclaimed  Graeme 
and  Will,  in  a  breath.     "  How  glad  Janet  will  be !" 

"  Emily  does  not  say  so,  in  so  many  words.  It  won't  bo 
for  a  long  time  yet,  they  are  so  young.  But  I  am  to  be 
brides-ma,id  when  the  time  comes." 

"W^ell,  if  that  is  not  saying  it!"  said  Will,  laughing. 
"  What  would  you  have,  Rosie  ?" 

Graeme  opened  and  read  her  letter,  and  laid  it  down  be- 
side her,  looking  a  little  pale  and  anxious. 

"  What  is  it,  Graeme  ?    Nothing  wrong,  I  hope." 

"  No  ;  I  hope  not.  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  Norman 
says  he  is  going  to  be  manned." 


M 


JANET'S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


297 


"  Married !"  cried  Rose  and  Will. 

"  To  Hilda  ?"  said  Arihur. 

"  Yes ;  but  bow  could  you  have  guessed  ?"  said  Graeme 
bewildered. 

•'  I  did  not  guess.  I  saw  it.  Why  it  was  quite  easy  to  be 
seen  that  events  have  been  tenduig  toward  it  all  these  years. 
It  is  all  very  fine,  this  brother  and  sister  intercourse  ;  but  I 
have  been  quite  sure  about  them  since  Harry  wrote  about 
them." 

"Well,  Norman  seems  surprised,  if  you  are  not.  Ho 
says,  '  You  ^^ill  be  very  much  astonished  at  all  this  ;  but  you 
cannot  bo  more  astonished  than  I  was  myself.  I  did  not 
think  of  such  a  thing  ;  at  least,  I  did  not  know  that  I  was 
thinking  of  such  a  thing  till  young  Conway,  my  fiiend, 
asked  permission  to  address  my  sister.  I  was  very  indignant, 
though,  at  first,  I  did  not,  in  the  least,  know  why.  How- 
ever, Hilda  helped  mo  to  find  out  all  about  it.  At  first  I 
meant  she  should  spend  the  winter  with  you  all.  I  want 
very  much  that  you  should  know  each  other.  But,  on  the 
whole,  I  think  I  can't  spare  her  quite  so  long.  Expect  to 
see  us  therefore  in  November — one  flesh!'"  There  was 
much  more. 

"  Well  done,  Norman  !"  cried  Arthur.  "  But,  Graeme,  I 
don't  see  what  there  is  to  look  grave  about.  She  seems  to 
be  a  nice  Uttle  thing,  and  Norman  ought  to  know  his  own 
mind  by  this  time." 

"  She's  a  gi*eat  deal  more  than  a  nice  little  thing,"  said 
Graeme  earnestly.  "  If  one  can  judge  by  her  letters  and 
by  HaiTy's  description  of  her — to  say  nothing  of  Norman's 
opinion — she  must  be  a  very  superior  person,  and  good  and 
amiable  besides.  But  it  seems  so  strange,  so  sudden.  Why, 
it  seems  only  the  other  day  since  Norman  was  such  a  mere 
boy.  I  wish  she  could  have  passed  the  winter  with  us.  I 
think,  perhaps,  I  should  write  and  say  so." 

"  Yes,  if  you  like.  But  Norman  must  judge.  I  think  it 
is  the  wisest  thing  for  him.     He  will  have  a  settled  home." 

I  do  believe  it  is,"  said  Graeme,  earnestly.     "  I  am  very 
13* 


M 


298 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


!• 


riiii 


Ml 


'4 


i''t' 


glad — or  I  shall  be  in  a  little.  But,  just  at  first,  it  seems  a 
little  as  though  Norman  would  not  be  quite  so  much  one  of 
us — you  know — and  besides  there  really  is  something  odd 
in  the  idea  of  Nomian's  being  married  ;  now,  is  there  not  ?" 

"  I  confess  I  fail  to  see  it,"  said  Arthui',  a  httlc  shai-ply. 
Graeme  had  hardly  time  to  notice  his  tone.  An  exclama- 
tion fi'om  Will,  startled  her. 

«  What  is  it,  Will.  ?"  said  Rose.     "Another  wedding?" 

"  You  '11  never  guess,  Rosie.     Never.     You  need  not  try." 

"  Is  it  Han-y  this  time  ?"  said  Ai'thur,  looking  in  from  the 
hall  with  his  hat  on. 

"No.  Listen,  Arthur!  Harry  says,  'What  is  this  that 
"Mr.  Green  has  been  telling  me  about  Arthiu'  and  little  Miss 
Grove  ?  I  was  gi'eatly  amused  at  the  idea  of  their  mutual 
admiration.  Mr.  Green  assm'es  me  that  he  has  the  best 
authority  for  sajdng  that  Ai'thiu'  is  to  carry  off  the  heiress. 
Charlie,  too,  has  hinted  something  of  the  same  kind.  Tell 
Graeme,  when  that  happens,  I  shall  expect  her  to  come  and 
keep  my  house.' " 

"  They  said  Mi*.  Green  was  going  to  caiTy  off  the  heiress- 
himself!"  exclaimed  Rose. 

"  Listen  !"  continued  Will.  "  '  Unless,  indeed,  Graeme 
should  make  up  her  mind  to  smile  on  Mr.  Green  and  take 
possession  of  the  "  palatial  residence,"  of  which  he  has  just 
laid  the  foundation  near  C .'  " 

"  Here  is  a  bit  for  you,  Graeme.  Nobody  is  to  be  left  out, 
it  seems.  It  wUl  be  your  turn  next,  Rosie,"  said  Arthur,  as 
he  went  away  laughing. 

"But  that  is  all  nonsense  about  Arthur  and  httle  Miss 
Grove  ?"  said  Rose,  half  questioningly. 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed !  Fancy  Arthur  coming  to  that 
fate,"  said  Graeme.     "  That  would  be  too  absurd." 

And  yet  the  thought  came  uncalled  several  times  that  day, 
and  her  repetitions  of  "  too  absui'd,"  became  very  energetic 
in  her  attempts  to  drive  it  quite  away.  The  thought  was 
unpleasantly  recalled  to  her  when,  a  day  or  two  after,  she 
saw  her  brother,  standing  beside  the  Grove  carriage,  appa- 


JANET  S    lA)\i:   AND   SEIiVICK 


299 


ust 


rently  so  interested  in  his  conversation  A\*ith  the  pretty  Fanny 
that  she  and  Rose  passed  quite  close  to  them  unobserved.  It 
was  recalled  niore  unpleasantly  still,  by  the  obliging  care  of 
Mrs.  Gridlev,  \vlio  was  one  of  then"  fii'st  visitors  after  their 
return.  The  Grove  carriage  passed  as  she  sat  with  them, 
and,  nodchug  sigiiilicantly  toward  it,  she  said  : 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  congratulate  you  or 
sympathize  with  you." 

Graeme  laughed,  but  she  was  very  much  afraid  she  changed 
color,  too,  as  she  answered  : 

"  There  is  no  haste.  When  you  make  up  your  mind  as 
to  which  wiU  be  most  appropriate,  you  will  be  in  time." 

"  Ah !  you  arc  not  to  commit  youi'self,  I  see.  Well,  you 
ai'e  quite  right.  She  is  a  harmless  httlc  person,  I  believe, 
and  may  turn  out  very  vrell  if  withdra^^^l  from  the  influence 
of  her  stepmother." 

Somotliing  m  Graeme's  manner  stopped  the  voluble  lady 
more  efTectually  than  -swords  could  have  done,  and  a  rather 
abrupt  turn  was  given  to  ihe  conversation.  But  Graeme 
could  not  forget  it.  Not  that  she  believed  in  the  truth  of 
what  JMr,s.  GricUey  had  hinted  at,  yd  she  could  not  help 
being  annoyed  at  it.  It  was  rather  foohsh,  she  thought,  for 
Arthur  to  give  occasion  for  such  gossip.  It  was  s6  unlike 
him,  too.  And  yet  so  little  was  enough  to  raise  a  rumor  hke 
that,  especially  with  so  kind  a  fiiend  as  Mrs.  Gridley  to  keep 
the  ball  rolling.  Very  likely  -iVrthur  knew  nothing  at  all 
about  this  rumor,  and,  as  the  thought  passed  tlu'ough  her 
mind,  Graeme  determined  to  tell  him  about  it. 

But  she  did  not ;  she  could  not  do  so — though  why  she 
could  not  Avas  a  mystcr}-  to  herself.  Sometimes  she  fancied 
there  was  that  in  iVi'thur's  manner  which  prevented  her  from 
pursuing  the  subject,  when  an  opportunity  seemed  to  offer. 
When  he  was  nol;  there,  she  was  quite  sure  it  was  only  her 
own  fancy,  but  no  sooner  was  the  name  of  Grove  mentioned, 
than  the  fancy  returned,  till  the  veiy  sight  of  the  Grovo 
carnage  made  her  uii-.omfor table  at  last,  especially  if  the 
lady  of  the  mansion  was  in  it.     She  never  failed  to  lean  for- 


Mi 


!^    { 


'I 


i 
i 


aod 


.lANKTH    T,<»\  i;    AND   Hi:|{VI(;iO. 


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iM' 


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Pt 


! 


ward  and  bow  to  them  with  tlio  ^ivatoKt  iiitrrost  and  polito- 
Jioss  ;  and  luoro  tlian  onco  (Sraemo  was  left  Ktandin^  looknif^ 
in  at  a  Hhoi^window,  wliilo  Arthur  obeyed  tho  bcclvoniiiLj 
hand  of  tho  lady,  and  wont  to  Hj)oak  to  her.  Soinofcinioa  tho 
))rotty  Fanny  was  thcro  ;  Roiiu'tinH^s  sho  was  not.  Ihit  her 
nbsonco  did  not  Kot  CJraomo'H  uncoiufortal)lo  f('('lin<jfs  at  rest 
with  ro'^ard  to  hor  l)rothor. 

And  yet,  why  should  she  bo  unconifortabh*  ?  sho  aslcod 
herself,  a  thousand  times.  "What  right  had  slu;  to  interfere, 
even  in  thout,dit,  with  her  brother's  friendship  ?  If  ho  ad- 
mii'od  ]\Iis9  Grove,  if  ovon  ho  wore  attaclied  to  her,  or  en- 
gaged to  hei',  it  was  nothing  ^vith  whit^h  sh(^  could  interfere — 
nothing  to  which  sho  could  even  alludi; — until  ho  should 
speak  first.  But  then,  of  course,  that  was  quite  absurd  I 
Miss  (irovo,  though  very  pretty,  and  tho  daughter  of  a  man 
who  was  reported  to  bo  rich,  was  no  more  worthy  to  bo 
Arthur's  wife than 

Oh !  of  course  it  was  all  nonsense.  No  one  had  over 
hoai'd  throo  words  of  common  sense  from  thoso  pretty  lips. 
Sho  had  hoard  Aiihiu*  say  as  much  as  that  himself.  Miss 
Grove  could  dance  and  flu't  and  sing  a  little  ;  that  was  all  that 
could  bo  said  for  her,  and  to  suppose  that  Arthur  would  ever — 
And  yet  Graeme  grew  a  httlo  mdignant  standing  there 
looking  at,  but  scarcely  seeing  the  beautiful  things  in  Savage's 
windov;,  niid  she  inwardly  resolved  that  never  again  should 
she  wait  for  tlio  convenience  of  the  free-and-easy  occujiaut  of 
the  carnage  stantling  a  few  doors  down  the  street.  She  had 
time  to  go  over  the  same  thoughts  a  good  many  times,  and 
the  conclusion  always  was  that  it  was  exceedingly  imperti- 
nent of  Mrs.  Grove,  and  exceedingly  foolish  of  Arthur,  and 
exceedingly  disagreeable  to  herself,  before  she  was  recalled  by 
her  brother's  voice  from  her  enforced  contemplation  of  the 
beautiful  things  before  her. 

"  Mi*s.  Grove  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  Graeme,"  said  he, 
■with  a  little  embarrassment. 

"  I  could  hardly  be  expected  to  know  that  by  itituition," 
said  Graeme,  coldly. 


JANirr  S    LOVK    AND   bERVICE. 


301 


bo 


*'  Sho  bcckonod.     Did  you  not  roo  ?  " 

"Slio  bcH'konod  to  yon  ;  hUo  would  liardly  v(!nturo  on  Much 
a  liberty  witli  mo.  Tlioic  is  not  tiu;  nli;,'litcst  upproiich  to  iii- 
tim.'icy  bc!t\vc!('U  ns,  and  never  will  bo,  uidosM  I  have  p^roMy 
luistakcn  her  cliaruotijr." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  may  v(!ry  easily  have  done  that,  you  know 
very  little  about  her.  She  thinks  very  hi;,'h]y  of  y(ju,  I  can 
assure  you." 

"StufT!"  ])ronouiicod  (iraeme,  with  sucli  emphasis  that 
she  startled  herself,  and  provok(;d  a  hearty  lau^h  from  her 
brother. 

"I  decliire,  Graeme,  I  thor.rjht  for  the  moment  it  was  Harry 
that  spoke,  or  Mrs.  (iridlcsy  iu  one  of  her  least  tolerant  mooda. 
It  did  not  sound  the  least  like  you." 

Graeme  laughed,  too. 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  Harry  at  the  minute,  and  as  for 
Mrs.  Gridley — I  didn't  mean  to  be  cross,  Arthur,  but  some- 
thing disagreeable  that  she  once  said  to  mo  did  come  into  my 
mind  at  the  moment,  I  must  confess." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  a  more  pleasant  siibject  for  mechtation 
on  your  way  home,"  said  Arthur.  "Wait  till  I  sec  if  there 
01*0  any  letters.     None,  I  believe.     Good-bye." 

Mrs.  Gridley  did  not  occupy  Graeme's  thoughts  on  her  way 
homo,  yet  they  were  not  very  pleasant.  All  the  way  along 
the  sunny  streets  she  was  repeating  to  herself,  "  so  absurd," 
"so  foolish,"  "so  impertinent  of  ]Mi*s.  Grove,"  " so  disagi'ceable 
to  be  made  the  subject  of  gossip,"  and  so  on,  over  and  over 
again,  till  the  sight  of  the  obnoxious  carnage  gave  her  a  fie.sb 
staii  again.  The  lady  did  not  becktm  this  time,  she  only  bowed 
and  smiled  most  swcctl}'.  But  her  smiles  did  not  soothe 
Graeme's  ruffled  temper,  and  she  reached  home  at  last  quite 
ashamed  of  her  folly.  For,  after  all,  it  was  far  less  disagree- 
able to  call  herself  silly  than  to  call  Arthur  foohsh,  and  Mrs. 
Grove  impertinent,  and  she  would  not  think  about  it  any 
more.  So  she  said,  and  so  she  repeated,  still  thinking  about 
it  more  than  was  either  pleasant  or  needful. 

One  night,  Charlie  jMillar  i)aid  them  a  visit.  He  made  no  se- 


iff 


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1 

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1' 


302 


JA^■1:;TS    LOVE    AND    aLllVlCK. 


crct  of  Ilia  (lolij^lit  at  tlioir  return  homo,  declaring  that  ho 
had  not  lc!io\vu  wliat  to  do  with  hinisulf  in  their  absence,  and 
that  lie  had  not  bi'cu  (jiiite  content  or  at  his  easo  since  he  sat 
in  ( iraenie's  ann-diair  three  montlui  ago. 

"  One  would  not  think  s)  from  the  visits  vou  have  made  us 
since  wo  came  homo,"  said  Graeme,  smiling.  "  You  have  only 
looked  in  upon  us.  We  were  thinking  you  had  forsaken  us, 
oi-  that  you  had  found  a  more  comfortable  arm-chair,  at  a 
pleasauter  fireside." 

"  Business,  business,"  repeated  Charho,  gi'avcly.  "  I  as- 
sure you  that  Harry  out  there,  and  I  here,  have  had  all  that 
■wo  have  been  al)le  t(j  attend  to  during  the  last  three  months. 
It  is  oidy  to  the  unexpected  delay  of  tlic  steamer  that  I  ov/o 
the  leisure  of  this  evening." 

"  You  expect  us  to  behevo  all  that,  I  suppose,"  said 
Graeme,  laughing. 

"  Indeed,  you  may  believe  me,  Miss  Elliott.  It  is  quite 
true.  I  can't  understand  how  it  is  that  my  wise  brother 
can  stay  aAvay  so  long  just  now.  If  he  docs  not  know 
how  much  he  is  needed  it  is  not  for  want  of  telling,  I  assure 

you." 

"  You  hear  often  from  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

*'  Yes.  I  had  a  note  from  Lilias  the  other  day,  in  a  letter 
I  got  from  my  mother.  She  sent  *  land  regards  '  to  the  ^Misses 
Elliott,   which  I   take  the  present  ojiportmiity   of  dehvcr- 


in^'". 


"  Business  having  hitherto  prevented,"  said  Rose. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  faith  in  my  business  engage- 
ments, IMiss  Bose  ;  but  I  assure  you  that  Harry  and  I  de- 
serve gi'cat  credit  for  having  carried  on  the  business  so  suc- 
cessfully for  the  last  three  montlis." 

""SVlicre  is  Mr.  Gilchrist?"  asked  Arthur. 

"  Oh,  he's  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  But  Mr.  Gilchrist 
is  an  '  old  fogie,'  and  he  has  not  helped  but  hmdered  matters, 
now  and  then.  It  is  not  oas}'  gettmg  on  with  those  slow- 
going,  obstinate  old  gentlemen  ;  I  can't  understand  how  Al- 
lan used  to  manage  him  so  well.    Howevcrj    he  had  un- 


JANETS    hOVi:    AM)   SKRVICE. 


303 


bounded  coufidcnoe  in  iVlluu's  powers,  and  let  him  do  as  ho 
pleased." 

"  And  tlic  obstinate  oM  ,c,'<!ntleinan  has  not  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  the  powers  of  you  and  Hariy?''  said  Arthur, 
lauj^diinj^.  "Upon  the;  wliole  I  think,  in  the  absence  of  your 
brother,  it  is  as  well  that  von  two  lads  should  have  some  chock 
upon  yon,  now  and  then." 

"Not  at  all,  I  assure  you,"  said  Charhe.  "As  for  Hany — 
Mi.ss  Elhott,  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  half  the  kind  things  I 
hear  about  Harry  from  our  correspondents  out  there." 

Graeme  smiled  brightly.  Shu  was  pcnnitting  herself  to  rely 
entirely  upon  Harry  now. 

"  But,  Chai-lie,"  said  AVill.  from  liis  coiT.er,  "  what  is  this 
nonsense  you  have  been  telling  HaiTy  about  Arthiu*  and  the 
beautiful  Miss  Grove  ?  " 

Charlie  started  and  coltjrcd,  and  so  did  Graeme,  and  both 
glanced  hastily  at  Ai'tlnu",  who  neither  stai'ted  nor  colored,  as 
Graeme  was  very  glad  to  perceive. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Charlie,  with  a  gi'cat  show  of  astonish- 
ment and  mdignation.     "  I  don't  understand  you,  "NViU." 

" "Will.,"  said  lloso,  laughing,  "you  are  mistaken.  It  was 
Mr.  Green  who  had  been  hinting  io  IlaiTy  sometliing  you  re- 
member ;  you  read  it  to  us  the  other  morning." 

"Yes,  but  Harry  said  that  Charhe  had  been  saying  some- 
thing of  the  same  kuad,"  jjcrsisted  simple  Will.,  who  never 
dreamed  of  making  any  one  feel  uncomfortable. 

"  Hmting !  "  repeated  Charlie.  "  I  never  hint.  I  leave  that 
to  Mrs.  Gridley  and  her  set.  I  think  I  must  have  told 
Hai'ry  that  I  had  seen  Aiihur  in  the  Grove  carnage  one 
morninpf,  and  another  dav  standing  beside  it  talking  to  Miss 
Fanny,  while  her  mamma  was  in  ordering  nice  things  at 
Alexander's." 

Graeme  laughed,  she  could  not  ln;lp  it. 

''  Oh,  that  terrible  carriage !  "  said  Rose. 

"  A  verj'  comfortable  and  (.'onvenient  camago  I  found  it 
many  a  time,  when  I  was  staging  at  Mrs.  Smith's,"  said  Arthur, 
cooUy.     "  Mrs.  Grove  was  so  polite  as  to  invite  me  to  take  a 


i    -i 


*  r 


ill 


304 


.IAIU:i  ri    LOVE    AM>    HKliVICE. 


II 


ill 


Beat  in  it  more  ihiin  once,  and  nuicli  ol)ligC!d  I  was  to  hor 
sonio  of  tliosu  wjinn  Aii^^nist  iiu>i'nin,i,'s." 

"So  you  Si'O,  Will.,"  Ktiiil  Cliiirlio,  triuniphantly,  "I  was 
toUinj:,'  llarr ,'  tlu!  siini)lo  tnitli,  and  he  wan  mean  to  acciwo 
nic  of  liintinj,'  'nonsense,' as  you  call  it." 

•'  I  suppose  that  is  what  ^Irs.  Giidlcy  meant  the  other  day 
when  she  nodded  so  sij^iificantly  toward  the  Grove  carriage, 
and  asked  wlu'ther  she  was  to  congratulate  us." 

Hose  spoke  with  a  little  hesitation.  She  was  not  sure  that 
her  brother  would  bo  quite  pleased  by  IMrs.  (Jridley's  con- 
gratulations, and  ho  was  not. 

"  Oh!  if  we  are  to  have  Mrs.  Gridley's kind  concern  and  in- 
terest in  our  affairs,  we  shall  advance  rapidly,"  said  he,  a  little 
crossly.  "  It  would  of  coiu'sc  bo  ver}'  desirable  to  discuss  our 
alTairs  with  that  prudent  and  cliari table  lady." 

"  But  as  I  did  not  suppose  there  was  on  that  occasion  any 
matters  to  discuss,  there  was  no  discussion,"  said  Graeme,  by 
no  means  unwilling  tliat  her  brother  should  see  that  she  was 
not  pleasod  by  his  manner  and  tone  to  Rose. 

"Oh!  never  mind,  Graeme,"  said  Rose,  laughing,  "wo 
shall  have  another  chance  of  being  congratulated,  and  I  only 
hope  Arthiu'  may  be  hero  himself.  INIrs.  Gridley  was  passing 
when  the  Grove  cariiago  stood  at  oiu*  door  this  morning.  I 
saw  her  while  I  was  coming  up  the  street.  She  will  be  hero 
in  a  day  or  two  to  ofier  again  her  congi'atulations  or  her 
sj^mpathy." 

"Was  IMi'S.  Grove  here  this  morning?  "  enquired  Arthur. 
*'Slie  must  have  given  you  her  own  message  then,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  She  was  at  the  door,  but  she  did  not  get  in.  I  was  out, 
and  Graeme  was  busy,  and  sent  her  ^^ord  that  she  was 
engaged." 

"  Yes,"  said  Graeme,  "  I  was  helping  Nelly,  and  I  was  in 
my  old  blue  wrapper." 

"Now,  Graeme,"  said  Will.,  "that  is  not  tlio  least  like  you. 
What  about  a  wrapper  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  of  course.     But  a  call  at  that  hour  is  not  at  all 


•IANCT's    I.OVE    and   SKRVICi:. 


305 


times  convenient,  unless  from  one's  intimate  friends,  and  wo 
are  not  intimate." 

"  But  perhaps  she  designs  to  honor  you  with  lier  intimate 
friendship,"  said  CliarHe. 

(Jraeme  lau^died. 

"I  am  very  nuich  obhgod  to  her.  But  I  think  wc  could 
each  make  a  happier  elicjicc  of  friends." 

"  She  is  a  very  cle  .er  woman,  though,  let  mo  tell  you,"  said 
Arthur  ;  "  and  she  can  make  herself  very  agreeable,  too,  when 
she  chooses." 

"Well,  I  cannot  imagine  over  being  charmed  by  her,"  said 
Graeme,  hastily.  "  There  is  something — a  feeling  that  she 
is  not  sincere — that  would  spoil  all  her  attempts  at  being 
agi'ccablo,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  Smooth  and  fidse,"  said  Charlie. 

"No,  Clia?lie.  You  arc  nnieh  too  severe,"  said  Arthur. 
"Graemi":  idea  of  insincerity  is  better,  though  very  severe 
for  her.  And,  after  all,  I  don't  think  that  she  is  onsciously 
insincere.  I  can  scarcely  tell  v.liat  it  is  that  makes  the  dear 
lady  other  than  admira])le.  I  think  it  must  be  her  tasle  for 
management,  as  Miss  Fanny  calls  it.  She  does  not  seem  to 
be  able  to  go  straight  to  any  point,  but  plans  and  arranges, 
and  thinks  herself  very  clever  when  she  succeeds  in  making 
people  do  as  she  wishes,  when  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  she 
would  li;ive  succeeded  quite  as  well  by  simply  expressing  her 
desires.  After  all,  her  manccuvering  is  very  transparent, 
and  therefore  very  harmless." 

"  Transparent !  Harmless !  "  repeated  Charlie.  "  You 
must  excuse  me  if  I  say  I  think  you  do  the  lady's  talents 
great  injustice.  Not  that  I  have  any  personal  knowledge  of 
the  matter,  however  :  and  if  I  were  to  repeat  the  current  re- 
ports. Miss  Elliott  would  call  them  gossip  and  repudiate 
them,  and  nic  too,  perhaps.  She  has  the  reputation  of  having 
the  '  wisdom  of  the  scri)Gnt,'  the  slyness  of  the  cat,  I  think." 

They  all  laughed,  for  Ciiarlie  had  warmed  as  he  went  on. 

"  I  am  sm'e  it  must  be  very  luicomfortable  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  such  a  person,"  said  Hose.     "  I  should  feel 


:    |f     1 

Ml 


■ 


I'll 


I    M 


i     1 


300 


JANET  S    I.OVK    AND    SERVICE. 


ffefc 


as  though  I  must  be  always  on  the  watch  for  something  un- 
expected." 

"  To  bo  always  on  the  -watch  for  somethmg  unexpected, 
would  be  ratlicr  uncomfortable  — '  for  a  continuance,'  as 
Janet  Vvould  say.  Bat  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  that  with 
Mrs.  Grove.  I  think  it  must  bo  rather  agreeable  to  have 
everything  arranged  for  one,  with  no  tronblc.  You  should 
hear  Miss  Fanny  when  in  some  difficult  conjunction  of  cu'- 
cumstances  —  she  resigns  herself  to  supeiior  guidance. 
•  Mamma  will  manage  it.'  Certainly  she  does  manage  some 
difficult  matters." 

There  Nvas  the  fauitest  echo  of  mimiciT  m  iVrthiu-'s  tone, 
as  he  repeated  jMiss  Fainiy's  words,  which  Graeme  was  quite 
ashamed  of  being  glad  to  hear. 

"It  was  very  stupid  of  me,  to  be  sure !  Such  folly  to  snj> 
pose  that  Arthur  would  fall  into  that  shallow  woman's  snares. 
No  ;  Aiihur's  wife  must  be  a  very  different  woman  from 
pretty  little  Fanny  Grove.  I  wish  I  knew  anyone  good 
enough  and  lovely  enough  for  him.  But  there  is  no  haste 
about  it.  Ah,  me !  Changes  will  come  soon  enough,  we 
need  not  seek  to  hasten  them.  And  yet,  we  need  not  fear 
them  whatever  they  may  bo.  I  am  very  sm'e  of  that.  But  I 
am  very  glad  that  there  is  no  harm  done.'' 

And  yet,  the  harm  that  Graeme  so  much  th'oaded,  was 
done  before  thi-oe  months  were  over.  Before  that  time  she 
had  it  from  Ai'thur's  own  lips,  that  he  had  engaged  himself 
to  Fanny  Grove,  one  who,  to  his  sisters,  seemed  altogether 
unworthy  of  liim.  Slio  never  quite  knew  how  to  receive  liis 
announcement,  but  she  was  conscious  at  the  time  of  feeling 
thankful  ;  and  she  was  ever  afterwards  thanlcful,  that  she  had 
not  heard  it  a  day  sooner,  to  mar  the  plcasui'c  of  the  last  few 
hovu's  of  Norman's  stay. 

For  Norman  came  with  his  bride  even  sooner  than  they  had 
expected.  Graeme  was  not  disapi)omted  in  her  now  sister, 
and  that  is  saying  nmch,  for  her  expectations  had  been 
highly  raised.  8ho  had  expected  to  find  her  an  intellectual 
and  self-reliant  woman,  but  she  had  not  expected  to  see  bo 


JANET  S   LOYE   AND   SERVICE. 


m 


charming  and  lovable  a  little  lady.  They  all  loved  her 
dearly  from  the  very  first ;  and  Graeme  satisfied  Noniian  by 
her  unfei^ied  dchght  in  her  new  sister,  who  was  frank,  and 
natural  and  childlike,  and  yet  so  amiable  and  wise  as 
well. 

And  Graeme  rejoiced  over  Noi*man  even  more  than  over 
Hilda.  Ho  was  just  what  she  had  always  hoped  ho  mi^ht 
become.  Contact  ^uth  the  world  had  not  spoiled  him.  Ho 
was  the  same  Norman  ;  perhaps  a  little  graver  than  he  used 
to  be  in  the  old  times,  but  in  all  things  true,  and  fi-ank,  and 
earnest,  as  the  Merle\'ille  school-boy  had  been. 

How  they  lived  over  those  old  times !  There  was  sadness 
in  the  pleasure,  for  Nonnan  had  never  seen  the  two  graves  in 
that  quiet  churchyard  ;  and  the  names  of  the  dead  wore 
spoken  softly.  But  the  bitterness  of  their  grief  had  long  been 
past,  and  they  could  speak  cheerfiill}'  and  ho2oefiilly  now. 

There  w\as  a  gi'cat  deal  of  enjoyment  crowded  into  the  few 
weeks  of  tlicii*  stay.  *'  If  HaiTy  were  only  liero !  "  was  said 
many  times.  But  Harry  was  well,  and  well  content  to  bo 
^  where  he  was,  and  his  coming  home  was  a  pleasure  which 
lay  not  verj'  far  before  them.  Their  \'isit  came  to  an  end  too 
Boon  for  them  all ;  but  Norman  was  a  busy  man,  and  they 
were  to  go  home  by  Merloville,  for  Norman  declared  ho 
should  not  feel  quite  assured  of  the  excellence  of  his  wife  till 
Janet  had  pronounced  a})on  her.  Graeme  v,as  strongly 
tempted  to  yield  to  their  persuasions,  and  go  to  MerleviUo 
with  them  ;  but  her  long  absence  diu'ing  the  summer,  and 
tlie  hope  that  they  might  go  to  Emily's  wedding  soon,  de- 
cided her  to  remain  at  honie. 

Yer  ;  they  had  enjoyed  a  few  •s\oeks  of  great  hapjiincss  ; 
and  tho  very  day  of  their  departure  brought  upon  Graeme 
the  pain  which  she  had  aim  ;st  ceased  to  fear.  Arthur  told 
her  of  liis  engagement  to  Miss  (irove.  Ilis  story  was  very 
short,  an<l  it  was  told  with  more  sliamefafedness  than  was  at 
all  natural  for  a  triumphant  lover.  It  did  not  matter  much, 
however,  as  tliero  was  no  one  to  take  note  of  the  circum- 
etances.     From  the  first  shock  of  astonishment  and  pain 


I    ; 


'►   i 


li 


ih 


',  I 


"^^^ 


■'.  ,  I 


308 


JANET  S   Lt)VE   AM)   SKKVICi:. 


H  ; 


which  his  announcement  gave  her,  Graeme  roused  herself  to 
hear  her  brother  say  eagerly,  even  a  little  impatiently — 

"  Of  course,  tliis  will  iiuike  no  cliii'erence  with  us  at  homo  ? 
You  will  never  think  of  going  away  because  of  this,  lloso  and 
vou?" 

By  a  great  effort  Graeme  forced  licrsolf  to  speak — 

"Of  course  not,  Ai'thur.  What  diilerenco  could  it  make? 
Where  could  we  go '?" 

When  Arthur  spoke  again,  which  he  did  not  do  for  a  mo- 
ment, his  tone  showed  how  much  ho  was  reheved  by  his 
sister's  words.  It  was  very  gentle  and  tender  too,  Graeme 
noticed. 

"  Of  com'so  not.  I  was  quite  sm'6  this  would  make  no 
change,  father  tlian  my  sisters  should  be  made  unhappy 
by  my — by  this  affair — I  would  go  no  further  in  it.  My  en- 
gagement should  be  at  an  end." 

"  Hush,  Arthur!     It  is  too  late  to  say  that  now." 

"  But  I  was  quite  siu'e  you  would  see  it  in  the  right  way. 
You  always  do,  (ilraeme.  It  was  not  my  thouglit  that  you 
would  do  otherwise.  And  it  will  only  be  a  new  sister,  an- 
other Ilosie  to  care  for,  and  to  love,  Graeme.  I  know  you 
will  be  such  a  sister  to  my  ^vife,  as  you  have  ever  been  to 
Rose  and  to  us  all." 

Graeme  pressed  the  hand  that  Arthm*  laid  on  hers,  but 
she  could  not  speak.  "  If  it  had  been  any  one  else  but  that 
pretty,  vain  cliild,"  thought  she.  She  almost  fancied  she  had 
spoken  her  thoughi  aloud,  when  Ai'tluu*  said, 

"You  must  not  be  hard  on  her,  Graeme.  You  do  not 
kno^y  her  yet.  She  is  not  so  wise  as  you  are,  perhaps,  but 
sue  is  a  gentle,  yielding  little  thing  ;  and  removed  from  her 
stepmother's  inlluence  and  placed  luider  your's,  she  will  be- 
come in  time  all  that  you  could  desire." 

She  Wi)uld  have  given  luuch  to  be  able  to  respond  heartily 
and  cheerfully  to  his  appeal,  biit  she  could  not.  Her  heart 
refused  to  dictate  hopeful  words,  and  her  tongue  could  not 
ha\e  uttered  them.  She  sat  silent  and  grave  while  her  brother 
wds  speaking,  and  when  he  ceased  she  hardly  knew  whether 


JANETS   LOVK   AND   SERVICE. 


309 


she  wcro  glad,  or  not  to  perceive  tliat,  absorbed  in  bin  own 
tliougbts,  bo  did  not  seem  to  notice  ber  silence  or  miss  ber 
sympatby, 

Tbat  nigbt  Graeme's  bead  pressed  a  sleepless  pillow,  and 
among  ber  many,  many  tbcMigbt"  tbcre  were  few  tbat  were 
not  sad.  Her  brotber  was  ber  ideal  of  manly  ('xc(;llen(;o  and 
wisdom,  and  no  cxercdse  of  cbarity  on  ber  part  could  make 
tbo  bride  tbat  be  bad  cbosen  seem  otbcr  tban  weak,  frivolous, 
vain.  Sbo  sbrank  bearisick  from  tbe  contemplation  of  tbo 
future,  repeating  ratber  in  sorrow  and  wonder,  tban  in  anger, 
"  How  could  be  be  so  blind,  so  mad  ?"  To  ber  it  was  incom- 
prebensible,  tbat  witb  bis  eyes  ojjcn  bo  could  bavo  placed  bis 
bappiness  in  tbo  keoiung  of  cmo  wlio  bad  been  brougbt  up 
witb  no  fear  of  God  before  ber  eyes — one  wbosc  bigbest 
wisdom  (bd  not  go  b(>yond  a  knowledge  of  tlie  paltry  fasb- 
ions  and  fancies  of  tbe  world.  He  niigbt  di-eam  of  bappiness 
DOW,  but  bow  sad  Avould  be  tbo  wakening. 

It  tbero  rose  in  ber  beart  a  feebng  of  anger  or  jealousy 
against  ber  brotber's  cboice,  if  ever  tbere  came  a  fear  tbat  tbo 
love  of  years  migbt  come  to  seem  of  little  wortb  beside  tbo 
love  of  a  day,  it  was  not  till  afterwards.  None  of  tbese  min- 
gled witli  tbo  bitter  sadness  and  compassion  of  tbiit  nigbt. 
Her  l)rotlier's  doubtful  future,  tbo  mistake  be  ba(.l  made,  and 
tbe  cbsappointment  tbat  must  follow,  tbe  cliango  tbat  migbt 
be  wrougbt  in  bis  cbaractcr  as  tbey  went  on  ;  all  tbese  carao 
and  went,  cbasing  eacli  otber  tbrougb  ber  mind,  till  tbe  power 
of  tbougbt  was  well  nigb  lost.  It  was  a  miserable  nigbt  to 
her,  but  out  of  tbo  cbaos  of  doubts  and  fears  and  anxieties, 
sbo  brougbt  one  clear  intent,  one  firm  determination.  8be 
repeated  it  to  berself  as  sbo  rose  from  ber  sister's  side  in  tbo 
dawn  of  tbo  dreary  autumn  morning,  sbo  repeated  it  as  part 
of  ber  tearful  prayer,  entreating  for  wisdom  and  strengtb  to 
keep  tbe  vow  sbo  vowed,  tbat  wbatever  cbanges  or  disap- 
pointments or  sorrows  migbt  darken  ber  brotber's  future,  bo 
sboukl  find  ber  love  and  trust  uiicbangod  for  ever. 


!^     ^ 


I'M 


.Jilar!-.^ 


CHAPTER    XXVI 1 1. 


■m 


ARTHUR  ELLIOTT  was  a  young  man  of  good  intellect 
and  superior  acquirements,  and  he  had  ever  been 
supposed  to  possess  an  average  amount  of  penetration,  and 
of  that  invaluable  quality  not.  always  foimd  in  connection 
with  superior  intolloct — connnon  sense.  He  remembered  his 
mother,  and  worshii^ped  her  memory.  She  had  been  a  wiso 
and  earncst-niindcd  woman,  and  one  of  God's  saints  besides. 
Living  for  years  in  daily  intercourse  with  his  sister  Graeme, 
he  had  learned  to  admire  in  her  the  qualities  that  made  her 
a  daughter  worthy  of  sucli  a  mother.  Yet  in  the  choice  of 
one  who  was  to  be  "  till  death  did  them  part"  more  than  sis- 
ter and  mother  in  one,  the  qualities  which  in  them  were  his 
pride  and  delight,  were  made  of  no  account.  Flesh  of  his 
flesh,  the  lve(>pcr  of  his  honor  and  his  peace  henceforth,  the 
maker  or  marrcr  of  his  life's  happiness,  be  it  long  or  short, 
was  this  pretty,  unformed,  wayward  child. 

One  who  has  made  good  use  of  long  opportunity  for  ob- 
servation, tells  me  that  Arthur  Elhott's  is  by  no  means  a 
singular  case.  Quite  as  often  as  otherwise,  men  of  high  intel- 
lectual and  moral  (qualities  hnk  their  lot  with  women  who 
are  far  inferior  to  them  in  these  respects  ;  and  not  always  un- 
happily. If,  as  sometimes  happens,  a  woman  lets  her  heart 
slip  from  her  into  the  keeping  of  a  man  who  is  mtclloctually 
or  morallj^  her  inferior,  happiness  is  far  more  rarely  the  re- 
sult. A  woman  may,  with  such  help  as  comes  to  her  by 
chance,  keep  her  snlitarj/  way  through  life  content.  But  if 
love  and  marriagr>,  or  the  ties  of  blood,  have  given  her  an 
arm  on  which  she  has  a  right  to  lean,  a  soul  on  whose  gnid- 
auce  she  has  a  right  to  trust,  it  is  sad  indeed  if  these  fail  hei\ 
(310) 


.TAXET  ri    I.OVJ:    AND    hLliVIClv 


311 


Lit  if 
V  un 
;-ukl- 
hor. 


For  then  slio  lias  no  ri;^ht  to  walk  !il')no,  no  iwwor  to  do  so 
happily.  Hor  intollo'jtnal  auJ  social  life  niu^t  p;row  togothor, 
or  one  ranst  gvow  awry.  AVliat  God  lias  joined  cannot  bo 
put  asunder  without  Haltering  or  loss. 

But  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  separate  his  intellc(;tual  life 
from  tliG  quiet  routine  of  social  duties  and  pleasures.  It  is 
not  always  ne(;essarv  that  ho  should  have  tlie  svnipatliv  of 
his  housekeei:)cr,  or  even  oi  the  mother  of  his  diildren,  in  tin  )S0 
higher  pursiiits  and  enjoyments,  which  is  the  tnie  life.  Tlio 
rising  doubt,  whether  the  beloved  one  have  eyes  to  see  wliat 
is  beautiful  to  him  in  nature  and  art,  may  come  with  a  chill 
and  a  pang  ;  the  certain  knowledge  of  her  ]:)lindncss  must 
come  with  a  shock  of  pain.  But  when  the  shudder  of  tho 
chill  and  the  shock  of  the  pain  are  over,  he  linds  himself  in 
the  place  he  used  to  occupy  before  a  fair  face  spiiled  dtnvn 
on  him  from  all  high  places,  or  a  soft  voice  mingled  v/ith  all 
harmonies  to  his  entranced  ear.  He  gi-ows  content  in  time 
with  his  old  solitary  place  in  the  study,  or  v»itli  striving  np- 
ward  amid  manly  minds.  When  he  returns  to  the  quiet  and 
comfort  of  his  well-arranged  homo,  the  face  that  smiles  oppo- 
site to  him  is  none  the  less  beautiful  because  it  beams  only 
for  home  pleasures  and  humble  housoliold  successes.  Tho 
voice  that  coos  and  murnnu's  to  his  bal)y  in  the  cradle,  tliat 
recounts  as  gi'cat  events  the  little  varieties  of  kitchen  and 
parlor  life  that  tells  of  visits  made  and  received,  with  items 
of  harmless  gossip  gathered  up  and  kept  for  his  hearing,  is 
none  the  less  dear  to  him  now  that  it  can  discourse  of  noth- 
ing beyond.  The  tender  care  that  surrounds  him  with  quiet 
and  comfort  in  his  houi's  of  leisure,  in  a  little  while  contcnits 
him  quite,  and  he  ceases  to  remember  that  ho  has  cares  and 
pains,  aspirations  and  enjoyments,  into  which  she  can  havo 
no  part. 

But  this  is  a  digression,  and  I  daresay  there  are  many  who 
wUl  not  agree  with  all  this.  Indeed,  I  am  not  siu'o  that  I 
quite  agree  with  all  my  friend  sjiid  on  this  subjcvt,  myself. 
There  are  many  ways  of  looking  at  the  same  thing,  and  if 
all  woro  said  that  might  be  said  about  it.  it  ■would  appear  that 


i^ 


\ 


'  1 


i 


^rfT 


312 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SEIiTICE. 


an  incapacity  on  the  part  of  the  wife  to  share,  or  at  least  to 
sjTiipatliizo  with  all  the  hopes,  pursuits,  and  pleasures  of  her 
husband,  causes  bitter  pain  to  both  ;  certainly,  he  who  cannot 
assure  himself  of  the  sympathy  of  the  woman  he  loves,  when 
he  would  pass  beyond  the  daily  routine  of  domestic  duties 
and  pleasures,  fails  of  obtaining  the  liighest  kind  of  domestic 
happiness, 

Charlie  Millar's  private  announcement  to  his  friend  HaiTy 
of  his  brother  Ai'thur's  engagement,  was  in  these  words  : 

"  The  cfif(jrts  of  the  maternal  Grove  have  been  crowned 
with  success.  Your  brother  is  a  cajjtive  soon  to  be  chained — " 

Cliarhe  was  right.  His  clear  eye  saw,  that  of  which  Ar- 
thur himself  remained  in  happy  unconsciousness.  And  what 
Charlie  saw  other  i:)eople  saw  also,  though  why  the  wise  lady 
should  Jet  slip  through  her  expert  fingers  the  wealthy  Mr. 
Green,  the  great  "Western  merchant,  and  close  them  so  firm- 
ly on  the  comparatively  poor  and  obscure  young  lawyer,  was 
a  circumstance  that  could  not  so  easily  be  understood.  Had 
the  interesting  fact  transpu'ed,  that  the  great  Elias  had  not 
so  much  slipped  thi'ough  her  fuigers,  as,  to  use  his  own  forci- 
ble and  elegant  language,  "  wriggled  himself  clear,"  it  might 
have  been  satisfactory  to  the  world  in  general.  But  IMr. 
Green  was  far  away  intent  on  more  important  matters,  on 
the  valuation  and  disposal  of  fabulous  quantities  of  pork  and 
wheat,  and  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  so  prudent  a  general 
as  Mrs.  Grove  would  be  in  haste  to  proclaim  her  own  defeat. 
She  acted  a  wiser  part ;  she  took  the  best  measures  for  cov- 
ering it. 

AVlien  the  j)retty  Fanny  showed  an  inclination  to  console 
herself  for  the  defection  of  her  wealthy  admirer  by  making 
the  most  of  the  small  attentions  of  the  handsome  young 
lawyer,  her  mamma  graciously  smiled  api^roval.  Fanny  might 
do  better  she  thought,  but  then  she  might  do  worse.  Mr. 
Elliott  was  by  no  means  Mr.  Green's  equal  in  the  great  essen- 
tials of  wealth  won,  and  wealth  in  prospect,  still  he  was  a 
rising  man  as  all  might  see  ;  quite  presentable,  with  no 
considerably,  connections, — axcept  perhaps  his  sisters,  who 


Janet's  love  and  servick. 


313 


ight 


could  easily  be  disposed  of.  And  then  Fanny,  thongli  very 
pretty,  was  "a  silly  little  thing,"  she  suid  to  herself  with 
great  candor.  Her  beauty  was  not  of  a  kind  to  increase 
with  years,  or  even  to  continue  long.  The  chances  were,  if 
she  did  not  go  oft'  at  once,  she  would  stay  too  long.  Then 
there  were  her  sisters  gi'owing  up  so  fast,  mamma's  own 
darlings  ;  Charlotte  twelve  and  Victoria  seven,  were  really 
quite  tall  and  mature  for  their  years,  and  at  anyrato,  it  would 
be  a  reUef  to  have  Fanny  well  away. 

Ajid  so  the  unsuspecting  youth  enjoyed  many  a  drive  iu 
the  Grove  carriage,  and  ate  many  a  dinner  m  the  Grove 
mansion,  and  roamed  with  the  fair  Faimy  by  daylight  and  by 
moonhght  among  the  flowers  and  fi'uits  of  the  Grove  gardens, 
during  the  three  months  that  his  brother  and  sisters  passed 
at  the  seaside.  He  made  one  of  many  a  pleasant  di'iving  or 
riding  party.  There  were  picnics  at  which  his  presence  was 
claimed  m  various  places.  Not  the  cumbrous  affaii's  which 
called  mto  requisition  all  the  baskets,  and  boxes,  and  available 
conveyances  of  the  invited  guests — parties  of  which  the  aim 
seems  to  be,  to  collect  in  one  favored  spot  in  the  country, 
all  the  luxuries,  and  au's,  and  graces  of  the  town — but  little 
impromptu  efforts  in  the  same  direction  in  which  IVIi's.  Grove 
had  all  the  trouble,  and  her  guests  all  the  pleasure.  Very 
channing  little  fetes  her  guests  generally  pronounced  them  to 
be.  Ai'thur  enioye^d  them  vastly,  and  all  the  more  that  it  never 
entered  into  liis  head,  that  he  was  m  a  measiu'e  the  occasion 
of  them  all.  He  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  pleasant 
peoi)le,  brought  together  in  those  pleasant  cu'cumstances. 
He  enjoyed  the  sight  of  the  green  earth,  and  the  blue  water, 
the  sound  of  the  summer  winds  among  the  hills,  the  songs 
of  birds  amid  rustling  leaves  and  waving  boughs,  until  ho 
came  to  enjoy  at  last  the  guardianship  of  the  fair  Fanny, 
generally  his  on  those  occasions  ;  and  to  associate  her  pretty 
face  and  light  laughter  with  his  enjoyment  of  all  those  pleas- 
ant things. 

Everything  w^ent  on  naturally  and  quietly.     There  was  no 
open  throwing  them  together  to  excite  speculation  in  the 

14: 


I 


|M 


:u.t 


.TANKTti    I.OVr.    AM)    MI'UVICi:. 


'     !  1 


iB'i 


11. 


.  ,\.i 


niiiuls  of  l)(>]ii)l(lors,  or  uncomf()i'l.!il)](^  itiiM.'^ivin{jf«  in  tlio 
iniiids  of  those  chiclly  coiu'criicd.  (^)uil(;  ilio  ('(^iilrary-  If 
unv  wiitcliful  faivv  liad  sii'j^jji'cHtcd  to  Arthur  tho  poHsibihtv  of 
Huch  u  wcl),  !is  tho  skini'ul  miiniiuji  \\;\h  w(>!iviii<;'  urouiKl  him, 
ho  would  have  lau;^h(Hl  at  the;  idea  aHtliOHnjjf^'cslion  of  a  vory 
illnaturod,  cvihniudod  sjiriio  ind(!cd.  Did  not  luaTuuia  kc'cp 
watchful  eyes  on  Fanny  ahvays  ?  liad  nho  not  many  and  many 
a  time,  intcrniptcd  litllo  {'onlid(>nc<'Hon  Ihopart  of  the  young 
ladv,  at  tho  rccolhu'tion  of  which  lio  wan  Homotinicsinclin(>d  to 
sniilo?  Had  hIio  not  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  acted  tho 
part  of  a  prudent  manuna  to  her  pretty  stepilau^ifl iter,  and  of 
a  considerate  hostess  to  him,  her  unworthy  jji'uest'? 

And  if  the  fairy,  in  Kolf-jiistidcation,  had  v(>ntnred  further 
to  insinuate,  that  there  is  more  than  one  kind  of  prudence, 
and  that  tho  prud(!nce  of  ]\rrs.  drove  was  of  anotluu*  and 
higher  kind,  than  a  sini])le  youth  could  be  suj>posed  to  eom- 
ju'(>hend,  his  enlij^liteniuent  miy^ht  not  yet  have  been  accom- 
plislunl.  If  it  had  been  averrcnl  that  mamma's  faith  in  her 
dan[;-hter'a  tact  and  conversational  powei's  was  not  sulTicient 
to  i)i^rniit  her  to  alk)W  tlu>ni  to  bo  too  sovcnily  tried,  ho 
might  have  ])ausod  to  recall  lu>r  little  airs  and  gestures,  and 
to  weigh  the  airy  nothings  from  those  pretty  lips,  and  he  could 
not  but  have  acknowledged  that  mamma's  faithlessness  was 
uot  surprising.  As  to  tho  ultimate  success  of  the  sprite  in 
opening  his  eyes,  or  in  breaking  tho  invisible  meshes  which 
were  meant  to  hold  tho  victim  fast,  that  is  quite  another 
matter.  »• 

But  there  was  no  fairy,  good  or  bad,  to  mingle  in  their 
nllairs,  and  thej^  llowcd  smoothly  on,  to  the  content  of  all 
concerned,  till  Graeme  camo  home  from  Cacouna,  to  play, 
in  Mrs.  Grove's  opinion,  the  part  of  a  very  bad  fairy  indeed. 
She  was  mistaken,  however.  Graeme  took  no  part  in  the 
matter,  either  to  niako  or  to  r^ar.  Even  had  she  been  made 
aware  of  all  the  possibilities  that  might  arise  out  of  her 
brother's  short  intimacy  with  the  Groves,  she  never  could 
have  regarded  the  matter  as  one  in  which  she  had  a  right  to 
interfere.     So,  if  there  came  a  pause  in  the  lady's  operations, 


5  i^ 


JAM"!'  ;i    l,<»\i;    AM)    SKUVIC!' 


315 


play, 

iced. 

the 

liado 

her 

Icuild 

It  to 

Ions, 


if  Arlhur  wan  iwiu-o  seldom  ono  of  tlicir  I'.irty,  (!vcn  wlion 
Rppciiil  piiiiiH  liiul  hccii  iiiUvu  to  Hociii'o  him,  it  avrh  owing 
to  iio  clloi'ls  of  (Jriicmc.  If  hv.  hc^^iin  to  sciltlo  down  intotljo 
old  (ini<'t  home  life,  it  was  Ixioiiuso  th(*  hfi;  suited  him  ;  and 
(jraemc's  inMiicnce  was  exerted  and  feh,  only  as  it  liad  ever 
be(;n  in  a  silent,  s\v(.'et,  sisterly  fashion,  with  no  reference  to 
Mrs.  (irove,  or  iu^r  selicme.s. 

J5ut  tliat  there  came  a  pause  in  the  efToclive  operationH  of 
that  clever  lady,  soon  became  (ivident  to  lu!rs(df.  SI k;  could 
not  conceal  from  herself  or  i\Iiss  Fanny,  that  the  beckoninj^H 
from  the  carriajjfe  window  were  iu)t  ho  <iuicldy  mum,  or  ho 
promptly  respcMided  to  as  of  old.  Not  that  this  defection  on 
Arthur's  part  was  ever  discussed  between  them.  Mrs.  (Jrovo 
liad  not  sutlicient  confidence  in  hvv  dauf^hter  toaduiitof  tliis. 
Fanny  was  not  reliable,  mamma  ft^lt.  Indeed,  she  was  very 
soon  talvinjjf  consolation  in  the  admiration  excited  b}' a  pah' 
of  shiniiif^' epaid(!ls,  which  bcj^an  about  this  time  to  glean^i 
with  considerable  frciquency  in  theu*  nei;j[hbfu-hood.  But 
mamma  diil  not  b(.'li(!ve  in  oflio(;rs,  at  hsast  matrimonially 
8])ealdii^',  and  as  to  the;  (ionsoLition  to  be  derived  from  anew 
flirtation,  it  was  but  doubtful  and  transitory  at  the  best. 
Besides  she  fancied  tliat  Mr.  Fili(;Lt'H  attentions  had  been 
observed,  and  she  was  quite  sure  that  his  defection  would  be 
so,  too.  Two  failures  succeeding'  ea(;h  other  so  rapidly,  woiUd 
lay  her  skill  open  to  question,  and  "  mar  dear  Fanny's  pros- 
pects." 

And  so  Mrs.  Grove  coniccntratcd  all  her  forces  to  meet  the 
emergency.  Another  invitation  was  given,  and  it  was  accept- 
ed. In  the  single  minute  that  preceded  the  cntrjinco  into 
the  dining-roon,  the  iirst  of  a  scries  of  decisive  measures  was 
carried  into  crfect.  With  a  voice  that  tremltled,  and  eyes  that 
glistened  witli  grateful  tears,  the  lady  thanked  her  "dear 
friend"  for  the  kind  consideration,  the  manly  delicacy  that 
had  induced  him  to  withdraw  himself  from  their  socicity,  as 
soon  as  he  had  become  aware  of  the  danger  to  her  sweet, 
but  too  susceptible  Fanny. 

"  Fanny  does  not  dream  that  her  secret  is  suspected.     But 


i1 


i-| 


I 


U 


v.    i 


■I; 


', 

1 

\ 

\ 

f 

■ 

! 

1 

310 


JANET  S    LOVn    AND   SERVICE. 


;    i^ 


ml 


oil !  Mr.  Elliott,  when  was  a  mother  at  fault  when  the  happi- 
ness of  her  too  sensitive  child  was  concernetl  ?  " 

In  vain  Ai'thur  looked  the  astonishment  he  felt.  In  vain  ho 
attempted  to  assure  her  in  the  strongest  terms,  that  he  had  had 
no  intention  of  withdi*a\ving  from  their  society — that  he  did 
not  understand — that  she  must  he  mistaken.  The  tender 
mother's  volubility  was  too  much  for  him.  He  could  only 
listen  in  a  very  embarrassed  silence  as  she  wont  on. 

Mr.  Elliott  was  not  to  suppose  that  she  blamed  him  for  the 
unhapj)mess  he  had  caused.  She  quite  freed  him  from  all  in- 
tention of  wrong.  And  after  all,  it  might  not  be  so  bad.  A 
mother's  anxiety  might  exaggerate  the  danger ;  she  would 
try  and  hope  for  the  best.  Change  of  scene  must  be  tried  ; 
in  the  meantune  her  fear  was,  that  pique,  or  woimded  pride, 
or  disappointed  affection  might  induce  the  imhappy  child  to 

— in  sliori  INIr.  Elliott  must  understand .    And  Mrs.  Grovo 

glanced  expressively  toward  the  wcai'er  cf  the  sliining  epau- 
lets, with  whom  Ai-thur  being  unenlightened,  might  have 
fancied  that  the  mihappy  child  was  canning  on  a  jn'etty 
energetic  and  prosperous  llirtaiion. 

But  "  pique  and  womided  pride !  "  He  had  never  in  all 
his  life  experienced  a  moment  of  such  intense  uncomfortable- 
ness  as  that  in  wliich  he  had  the  honor  to  liand  the  lady  of  the 
house  to  her  own  well-appouited  table.  Indignation,  vexa- 
tion, disbelief  of  the  whole  matter  spoiled  his  chnner  effectu- 
ally. ISIrs.  Grove's  exc[uisite  soup  might  have  been  ditch- 
water  for  all  he  knew  to  the  contraiy.  Tlie  motherly  concern 
so  freely  expressed,  looked  to  him  dreadfully  Hko  sometliing 
not  so  praiseworth3\  How  she  could  look  her  dear  Fanny  in 
the  face,  and  talk  so  softly  on  indifferent  subjects,  after 
having  so — so  umiccessarily,  to  say  the  least,  betrayed  her 
secret,  was  more  than  he  could  understand.  If,  indeed,  IMiss 
Fanny  had  a  secret.  He  wished  very  much  not  to  beUeve  it. 
Secret  or  not,  this  was  a  very  micomfortable  ending  to  a 
pleasant  three  months'  acquaintance,  and  he  felt  very  much 
annoyed,  indeed. 

Not  till  course  after  course  had  been  removed,  and  the  des- 


liing 
my  in 

after 
her 

3kliss 
eve  it. 

to   a 

macli 

le  des- 


.lANKTS    LOVK    AND   SKUVICK. 


317 


ficrt  hail  been  placed  on  the  tahle,  did  ho  summon  rcsohition 
to  with(h'a\v  his  attention  from  tlie  not  very  intere.stin<^-  con- 
versation of  his  host,  and  turn  his  eyes  to  Miss  Cirovo  and 
the  (![)aul(;ts.  'i'iiu  result  of  his  nntnientary  observation  was 
the  (liscoveiy  that  the  youn;,'  lady  was  looking  very  lovely,  and 
not  at  all  miserable.  Greatly  relieved,  he  ventui'ed  an  ap- 
propritite  remark  or  two,  <jn  the  subject  under  discussion. 
He  was  listened  to  with  pcjliteness,  but  not  with  Misa  Fanny's 
usual  amiability  and  interest,  that  was  evident. 

By  and  Ijy  the  f^entlemcn  followed  the  ladies  into  tlio 
drawing-room,  and  here  Miss  Fanny  was  distant  and  dignified 
still.  She  gave  brief  answers  to  his  remarks,  and  glanced 
now  and  then  toward  the  epaulets,  of  whom  Mrs.  Grove  had 
taken  possession,  and  to  whom  she  was  holding  forth  with 
great  energy  about  something  she  had  found  in  a  book. 
Ai'thur  approached  the  centre  taljle,  Ijut  Mrs.  Grove  was  too 
much  occupied  with  Captain  Starr  to  include  him  in  the  con- 
versation. Mr.  Grove  was  asleep  in  the  dining-room  still,  Jiud 
Arthur  felt  there  was  no  help  for  him.  Miss  Fanny  was  left 
on  his  hands  ;  and  after  another  vain  attempt  at  conversation, 
he  murnmred  something  about  music,  and  begged  to  be  p^er- 
mitte'l  to  liand  her  to  the  piano.  Miss  Grove  consented,  still 
with  more  than  her  usual  digiiity  and  distance,  andpropos  id 
to  fiiug  a  new  song  that  Caj^taiu  Stan*  had  sent  her.  She  «lld 
sing  it,  very  prettily,  too.  She  had  practised  it  a  great  du  d 
more  than  was  necessary,  her  mamma  thought,  withi."  the  List 
few  days.  Then  she  played  a  biilliant  piece  or  two ;  then  I>Irs. 
Grove,  from  the  centre  table,  proposed  a  swecfc  Scottish  air,  a 
great  favorita  of  hers,  and,  as  it  appeared,  a  great  favorite  of 
]Mr.  Elliott's,  also.  Then  there  were  more  Scottish  airs,  and 
French  aii's,  and  then  there  was  a  duet  with  Captain  Starr, 
and  mamma  withdiew  Mr.  Elliott  to  the  centi-e  table  and  the 
book,  and  did  not  in  the  least  resent  the  wandering  of  his 
eyes  and  his  attention  to  the  piano,  where  the  Captain's  hand- 
some head  was  at  tunes  in  close  proximity  with  that  of  the 
fair  nmsician.  Then,  when  there  had  l;een  enough  of  music. 
Miss  Grove  returned  to  her  embroidery,  and  Captain  Starr 


i»  I 


i      ii 


i    ^ 


:1 


T 


318 


JANKTS    L«»Vi:    AM)    ••-KUVICI':. 


(|! 


held  lior  cotton  and  Ikjv  scissors,  and  talked  such  nonsonfio  to 
her,  that  Arthui"  hcariui?  him  now  and  then  in  tlic  pauses  of 
tho  conversation,  tliought  him  a  jL^rcat  simpleton  ;  and  firmly 
believed  that  Miss  Fanny  listened  from  "pique  or  wounded 
pride,"  or  somethinj^  else,  not  certainly  because  she  liked  it. 
Not  l)ut  that  she  seemed  to  like  it.  She  smOed  and  resjionded 
ns  if  slie  did,  and  was  very  land  and  p.'acious  to  the  handsome 
soldier,  and  scarcely  vouchsafed  ^to  Mr.  Elliott  a  single 
glance. 

By  and  by  ]Mr.  Grove  came  in  and  witlnh'cw  IMr.  Elliott  to 
the  discussion  of  the  harbor  question,  and  as  Arthur  knew 
cverythuig  that  could  possibly  be  said  on  that  subject,  he  had 
abetter  opportunity  still  of  watclnng  the  pair  on  tho  other  side 
of  the  table.  It  was  very  absurd  of  him,  he  said  to  himself, 
and  he  reiieated  it  with  emphasis,  as  the  young  lady  suddenly 
looking  up,  colored  vividly  as  she  met  his  eye.  It  was  very 
absurd,  but,  somehow,  it  was  -scry  interesting,  too.  Never, 
during  the  whole  course  of  their  acquaintance^  had  his  mind 
been  so  much  occupVjd  with  the  pretty,  silly  little  creature. 

It  is  very  likely,  the  plan  of  piers  and  cnibanlmients,  of 
canals  and  bridges,  which  Miss  Fanny's  working  implements 
were  made  to  represent,  extending  from  an  imaginary  Point- 
St.-Charles,  -past  an  imaginary  GrilHntown,  might  have  been 
worthy  of  being  laid  before  tho  town  council,  or  tho  com- 
missioner for  public  works.  It  is  quite  possible  that  j\Ir. 
Grove's  explanations  and  illustrations  of  his  idea  of  the  new 
harbor,  by  means  of  the  same,  might  have  set  at  rest  the 
doubts  and  fears  of  the  over-cautious,  and  proved  beyond  all 
controversy,  that  there  was  but  one  way  of  deciding  the  matter, 
and  of  securing  the  prosperity  of  Mount  Royal  City,  and  of 
Canada.  And  if  Mr.  Grove  had  that  night  settled  the  vexed 
cpestion  of  the  harbor  to  the  saiisiaction  of  all  concerned, 
he  would  have  deserved  all  the  i-rrdit,  at  least  his  learned  and 
talented  legal  adviser  would  have  deserved  none  of  it. 

It  was  very  absurd  of  him,  he  said  again,  and  yet  the  inter- 
est gi'ew  more  absorbmg  every  moment,  till  at  last  he  received 
a  soft  relenting  glance  as  he  bowed  over  ]\:Iis8  Fanny's  white 


Ji; 


m 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


319 


hand  when  ho  said  <:foo!l-iii<jfht.  Ho  had  one  unoomfortablo 
niomont.  It  was  when  ^Irs.  Grovo  hoped  aloud  that  they 
should  SCO  him  often,  and  then  added,  for  his  hcaiinff  alono, 

"It  would  look  so  odd,  you  know,  to  forsake  us  quite." 

He  was  uncomfortable  and  indijjfuant,  too,  when  th(;  cap- 
tain, as  they  walked  down  tlie  street  topfether,  commented  in 
a  free  and  easy  manner  on  jMiss  drove's  "good  points,"  and 
wondered  "  whether  the  old  chap  had  tin  enough  to  malco  it 
worth  a  fellow's  pauis  to  follow  up  the  impression  he  seemed 
certain  ho  had  made."  lie  Avas  uncomfortable  when  ho 
thong] it  about  it  afterward.  AVhat  if  *"pi(iue,  or  wounded 
pride,  or  disappointed  atl'cction  "  should  tempt  the  poor  ht- 
tlc  girl  to  throw  herself  avray  on  such  an  ass!  It  would  bo 
sad,  indeed. 

And  then  ho  wondered  if  Miss  Grovo  reaUy  cared  for  him 
in  that  way.  Surely  her  stepmother  would  not  have  spoken 
as  she  liad  done  to  him  on  a  mere  suspicion.  As  he  kept  on 
thinking  about  it,  it  began  to  seem  mf)re  possible  to  him,  and 
then  more  pleasant,  and  what  with  one  thing,  and  what  with 
another,  Miss  Fanny  began  to  have  a  great  many  of  his 
thoughts  indeed.  Ho  visited  (irovo  House  a  good  many 
times — not  to  seem  odd — and  saw  a  good  deal  of  ]Miss  Fanny. 
Mamma  was  prudent  still,  and  wise,  and  far-seeing,  and  how 
it  came  about  I  Ginnot  tell,  but  the  result  of  liis  visits,  and 
the  young  lady's  smiles,  and  the  old  lady's  management  was 
the  engagement  of  these  two  ;  and  the  first  iniimation  that 
Graeme  had  of  it  was  given  by  Ai-thur  on  the  night  that  Nor- 
man went  away. 

Tune  passed  on.  Tlie  wedding  day  was  set,  but  there 
were  many  tlimgs  to  be  brought  to  pass  before  it  should  ar- 
rive. Graeme  had  to  finish  the  task  she  had  set  for  herself 
on  the  night  when  Arthur  had  bespoken,  her  love  and  care 
for  a  new  sister.  She  had  to  reconcile  herself  fully  to  the 
thought  of  the  man'iage,  and  truly  the  tasli  did  not  seem 
to  her  easier  as  time  went  on.  There  were  moments  when 
she  thought  herself  content  with  the  state  of  affairs,  when,  at 
least,  the  commg  in  among  them  of  this  stranger  did  not 


I  ; 


I' 


I    ,1 


320 


JANICT  S    LOVK    AM)    MIUVICK. 


'i\\: 


seem  altopfothcr  like  tlio  cud  of  Mioir  h!i|)|\v  lifo,  -when  IMiss 
(irovo  scohuhI  a  swoet  aiul  lovablo  litllo  tliin-^f,  and  (Iraonio 
took  hdpo  for  Avtluiv.  This  was  {i;onorally  on  l.lu)so  occasions 
wlicn  ihcy  wore  pormittoel  to  liavc;  I'aniiy  all  to  themselves, 
Avhcn  she  ^\■olll(l  come  in  of  lu>r  own  acconl,  in  the  early  part 
of  the  clay,  dressed  hi  her  pretty  mi>rnin<:f  attire,  ^vithont  hov 
company  manners  or  linery.  At  such  times  she  wuh  really 
very  eharminji;',  and  llitted  about  their  little  parlor,  or  sat  on 
a  footstool  ehatterinf^  with  Hose  in  a  way  that  (luitc  won  her 
heart,  and  almost  reconciled  the  elder  sister  to  her  brother's 
choice. 

But  there  were  a  j^'eat  many  ehaneos  ap^amst  the  pleasure 
lastinpf  beyond  the  visit,  or  even  to  the  end  of  it.  On  more 
than  one  occasion  (iraeme  had  dispatched  Nelly  as  a  messen- 
ger to  Arthiu',  to  tell  Inm  that  Fanny  was  to  Innch  with  them, 
thonj^li  her  magnanimity  involved  the  necessity  of  her  prepar- 
hv^  the  •^•catcr  part  of  that  pleasant  meal  with  luu*  own 
hands  ;  but  she  was  almost  always  sorry  for  it  afterward. 
For  Fanny  never  apjiearcd  a<^Teeabl(>  to  her  in  Arthur's  pre- 
sence ;  and  what  Avas  worse  to  bear  still,  Arthiu*  never  ap- 
peared to  advantage,  m  his  sister's  eyes,  in  the  presence  of 
Miss  Grove.  The  coquettish  airs,  and  pretty  tyrannical  ways 
assumed  by  the  young  lady  toward  her  lover,  might  have  ex- 
cited only  a  little  uncomfortable  amusement  in  the  minds  of 
the  sisters,  but  to  see  Arthur  yielding  to  all  her  whims  and 
capiices,  not  as  onc^  yields  in  a})pearance,  and  for  a  time,  to  a 
pretty  spoiled  chi^d,  over  whom  one's  authority  is  only  dele- 
gated and  subject  to  appeal,  but  ivnlh/  as  though  her  whims 
were  wisdom,  and  her  caprices  tlie  result  of  mature  delibera- 
tion, was  Miore  than  Graeme  could  patiently  endur(\  It  was 
irritatini;  to  a  deg/ee  that  si le  could  not  alwa\s  control  or 
conceal.  The  lovers  were  usually  too  nuich  occupii'd  with 
each  other  to  notice  the  discomfort  of  the  sisters,  but  this  in- 
ilitl'erence  did  not  make  the  folly  of  it  all  less  distasteful  to 
them  :  and  at  such  times  Graeme  used  to  fear  that  it  was  vain 
to  think  of  ever  growing  continit  with  tlie  future  before^  tlu>m. 

And  almost  as  disagreeable  were  the  visits  which  Fanny 


JANLT  8    LOVK    AND   8KICVlC'i:. 


321 


i\ 


ram 

'in. 


mado  with  lior  stopmotlior.  Those  bccamo  a  prcat  {l(>al  morn 
froqnout,  diinn<^  tlie  last  few  inonthK,  than  (Jraonie  Uu)iif^ht 
at  all  necessary.  '1  lu\y  used  to  call  on  their  Wiiy  to  pay  visits, 
or  on  their  return  from  shoppinji;  exiK>ditioiis,  and  the  very 
si^ht  of  their  carriage  of  state,  and  their  tine  array,  made 
Graenu;  and  Koso  uneomfortable.  The  little  airs  of  superi- 
ority, with  whieh  Miss  Fanny  sometimes  favored  thom,  wore 
oidy  assumed  in  the  pn^seneo  of  mamma,  and  W(>re  }i[enerally 
called  forth  hy  some  allnsion  inadc  by  her  to  the  future,  and 
tliey  were  none  the  less  disaj^reeable  on  that  account.  How 
would  it  bo.  when  Fanny's  marriage  should  ^ivo  her  stei> 
inoth(;r  a  sort  t»f  ri^ht  to  advise  and  direct  in  their  household? 
At  present,  her  delicate  attemi)ts  at  jxiti'cmaf^e,  her  hints,  BWg- 
gestivc  or  coiTCctive,  were  received  in  silence,  thou'^di  resented 
in  private  with  sufficient  encrnfy  by  Hose,  and  sometimes  even 
by  (Iraeme.  ]3nt  it  could  not  bo  so  ahvavs,  and  sho  should 
never  be  able  to  tolerate  the  interference  of  that  vain,  meddle- 
some, snperlieial  woman,  she  said  to  herself  many  a  time. 

It  nmst  bo  confessed  that  (Jraeme  was  a  little  unreasonable 
iu  her  dread  and  dislike  of  Fanny's  clever  st(!pmother.  Some- 
times she  was  oblijijed  to  confess  as  nmch  to  herself.  More 
than  once,  about  ihis  time,  it  was  brou«^ht  home  to  her  con- 
science  that  she  was  unjust  in  her  judgment  of  her,  and  hor 
motives,  and  she  was  st;irtled  to  discover  the  strength  of  hor 
feelings  of  dislike.  ]Many  times  she  foimd  herself  on  the 
point  of  dissenting  from  opinions,  or  opposing  plans  projiosed 
by  IMrs.  Grove,  with  whic;h  she  might  have  agreed  bad  they 
come  from  any  one  els(\  It  is  true  her  ojiinions  and  plans 
were  not  generally  of  a  nature  to  commend  themselves  to 
Graeme's  judgment,  and  there  was  rather  apt  to  bo  more  in- 
tended bv  tliem  thtui  at  first  laet  the  evo  nd  ear.  As  Miss 
Fanny  said  on  one  occasion,  "  One  cou-  '  -ever  tell  what 
inamma  meant  by  what  she  said,"  and  the  consi'(]uen<fe  often 
was  iin  uncomfortable  stat(>  of  expectation  or  dou'oton  the  part 
of  those  who  were  included  in  any  arrangement  depenil(>nt  on 
inamma.  Yet,  her  schemes  were  g(!nerally  qnit(^  harmless. 
They  were  not  so  deep  as  to  bo  dimgerous.  The  little  insin- 
14* 


I  P 


;^ 


322 


jamet's  love  and  service. 


I-  ;i' 


:•, 


'm 


'  ;:Vi 


ccrities  incident  to  their  almost  daily  intercourse,  the  small 
deceits  made  use  of  in  shopping,  marketing,  making  visits,  or 
sending  in^^tations,  were  no  such  mighty  matters  as  to  jeop- 
ardize the  happiness,  or  even  the  comfort  of  any  one  with 
eyes  keen  enough  to  detect,  and  with  skill  and  will  to  circum- 
vent them.  So  Graeme  said  to  herself  many  a  time,  ?  iid  yet, 
saying  it  she  could  not  help  suffering  I  "srseK  to  be  made  nn- 
comfortable  still. 

The  respect  and  admiration  wliich  IVIrs.  G-rove  professed 
for  Miss  Elliott  might  have  failed  to  propitiate  her,  even  had 
she  given  her  credit  for  sincerity.  They  were  too  freely  ex- 
pressed to  be  agreeable  under  any  circumstances.  Her  joy 
that  the  Elliotts  were  still  to  form  one  household,  that  her 
doar  thoughtless  Fanny  was  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  elder 
sister's  longer  experience  and  sujierior  wisdom  was  gi'eat,  and 
her  surprise  was  gi'cat  also,  and  so  was  her  admhation.  It 
was  so  dear  in  Miss  Elhott  to  consent  to  it.  Another  person 
might  have  resented  the  necessit;y  of  having  to  take  the  second 
place,  where  she  had  so  long  occupied  the  first  in  her  brother's 
house.  And  then  to  be  superceded  by  one  so  much  younger 
than  lierseK,  one  so  much  less  wise,  as  all  must  acknowledge 
her  dear  Fanny  to  be,  was  not,  could  not  be  pleasant.  ]\Iiss 
Elliott  must  be  a  person  possessing  extraordinary  qualities, 
indeed.  How  could  she  ever  be  grateful  enough  that  her 
wayward  child  was  to  have  the  advantage  of  a  guardianship 
so  gentle  and  so  judicious  as  her's  was  sui*e  to  be !  Sho 
only  hoped  that  Fanny  might  appreciate  the  privilege,  and 
manifest  a  proper  and  amiable  submission  m  the  new  circum- 
stances in  which  she  was  to  be  placed. 

Graeme  might  well  be  imcomfortable  under  all  this,  know- 
ing as  sho  did,  that  mamma's  private  admonitions  to  her 
"wayward  daughter"  tended  rather  to  the  encouragement  of 
a  "  judicious  resistanco  "  than  of  "  a  proper  and  amiable  sub- 
mission "  to  the  anticipated  rule.  But  as  a  necessary  abdica- 
tion of  all  hou^^.ehold  power  made  no  part  of  Graeme's 
trouble,  except  as  she  might  sometimes  doubt  the  chances  of 
a  prosperous  administration  for  her  successor,  she  was  able 


±1CJL-, 


JANET  S    I.OVi:   AND   Si:RVICE. 


323 


f 

10 


to  restrain  all  outward  evidence  of  discomfort  and  indigna- 
tion. She  was  the  belter  able  to  do  this,  as  she  saw  that  the 
clever  ladv'a  declaration  of  her  sentiments  on  this  subiect, 
made  Ai-thiu*  a  little  micomfortable  too.  He  had  a  vague  idea 
that  tlie  plan  as  to  their  all  continuing  to  Hve  together,  had 
not  at  first  been  so  delightful  to  IVIi's.  (jlrove.  He  had  a 
remembrance  that  the  doubts  as  to  how  his  sisters  might  like 
the  idea  of  liis  intcndod  mamage,  had  been  suggested  by 
her,  and  that  these  doubts  had  been  coupled  with  hints  as  to 
the  proper  means  to  l)e  taken  in  cAlcr  that  the  happiness  of 
her  dear  daughter  might  be  secui*ed,  ho  remembered  vei-y 
well ;  and  that  she  had  expected  and  desired  no  assistance 
from  his  sisters  to  this  end,  he  vras  very  well  assured. 

"  However,  it  is  aU  right  now,"  said  Arthur,  congratulating 
himself.  "  Graeme  has  too  much  sense  to  be  put  about  by 
mamma's  twaddle,  and  there  is  no  fear  as  far  as  Famiy  and 
she  arc  concerned." 

Tlie  extent  to  which  "  mamma's  twaddle  "  and  other  matters 
"put  (Jraeme  about"  at  this  time  she  concealed  quite,  as  far 
as  Ai'thur  was  concerned.  The  best  was  to  be  made  of  things 
now  ;  and  though  oho  could  not  help  wishing  that  his  eyes 
might  be  more  useful  to  him  on  some  occasions,  she  knew 
that  it  would  not  have  mended  matters  could  he  have  been  in- 
duced to  make  use  of  her  clearer  vision,  and  so  her  doubts 
and  fears  were  kept  to  herself,  and  they  did  not  gi'ow  fewer 
or  less  painful  as  time  went  on. 

But  her  feelings  changed  somewhat.  She  did  not  cease  to 
gi'ieve  in  seciet  over  what  she  could  not  but  call  Arthiu''s 
mistake  in  the  choice  he  had  made.  But  now,  sometimes 
nnger,  and  F.ometimes  a  little  bitter  amusement  mingled  with 
bor  sor^'ow.  There  seemed  at  times  something  ludicrous  in  be- 
stowing her  pity  on  one  so  content  with  the  lot  ho  had  chosen. 
She  was  quite  sure  that  Arthiu*  would  have  smiled  at  the  little 
follies  and  inconsistencies  of  Miss  Grove,  had  he  seen  thorn 
in  any  one  els*^'  She  remen«bored  that  at  then*  first  acquaint- 
ance he  had  smiled  at  them  in  her.  Xwc  how  bhnd  he  was! 
All  her  little  defects  of  character,  so  painfully  apparent  to 


iJi 


324 


JANET  S    LOVi;    AM)    KEIiVICK. 


his  sisters  were  quite  invisible  to  him.  She  was  vciy  amiable 
and  charming"  in  his  eyes.  There  were  times  when  one 
might  have  supposed  that  he  looked  upon  her  as  the  wisest 
f».nd  most  sensible  of  women  ;  and  he  began  to  listen  to  her 
small  views  and  assent  to  her  small  opinions,  in  a  way,  and 
to  an  extent  that  would  have  been  amusing  if  it  had  not  been 
painful  and  imtating  t.)  those  lookmg  on. 

Graeme  tried  to  iix'Iieve  that  she  was  glad  of  all  this — that 
it  was  better  so.  If  it  was  so  that  these  two  were  to  pass 
their  lives  togethei',  it  was  well  that  they  should  be  blind  to 
each  other's  faults.  Somehow  mariicd  people  seemed  to  get 
on  together,  even  when  their  tastes,  and  talents,  and  tempers 
difTered.  If  they  loved  one  another  that  was  enough,  she 
supposed  ;  th«  .-(^  must  be  something'  about  it  that  she  did  not 
understand.  .  .  '  rate,  there  was  no  use  vexing  herself 
about  Ai'thur  .iO\, .  '^^  he  was  content,  why  should  net  she 
be  so  ?  Her  brother's  happiness  might  be  safer  than  she 
feared,  but  whether  or  not,  nothing  could  be  changed  now. 

But  as  her  fears  for  her  brother  were  put  fi'om  her,  the 
thought  of  what  the  future  might  bring  to  Rose  and  her, 
came  oftener,  and  with  a  sadder  doubt.  She  called  herself 
foolish  and  faithless — selfish  even,  and  scolded  herself  \'igor- 
ously  many  a  time  :  but  she  could  not  drive  away  her  fears, 
or  make  herself  cheerful  or  hopeful  m  looking  forward. 
\Vlien  Ai'thiu'  should  come  quite  to  see  with  Famiy's  eyes,  and 
hear  with  her  cars,  and  rel}--  upon  her  judgment,  would  they 
all  live  as  happily  together  as  they  had  hitherto  done  ?  Fann}', 
kept  to  themselves,  she  thought  she  Mould  not  fear,  but  in- 
fluenced by  her  stepmother,  whoso  principles  and  practice  were 
so  difi'erent  fi'om  all  they  iiad  been  taught  to  consider  right, 
how  might  their  lives  be  changed  ! 

And  so  the  weddhig-day  was  drawing  nigh.  As  a  part  of 
her  marria_,e-portion,  Mr.  Grove  was  to  present  to  his 
daughter  one  of  the  handsome  new  houses  in  the  neighbor- 
hood  of  Ct)kunbus  Square,  and  there  the  young  lady's  mar- 
ried life  was  to  commence.  The  house  was  quite  a  little  for- 
tune in  itself,  Mrs.  Grove  said,  and  she  could  neither  under- 


Janet's  love  and  servick. 


325 


stand  nor  approve  of  the  manner  in  which  her  triumphant  an- 
nouncement of  its  destination  was  received  by  the  Elliotts.  It 
is  just  possible  that  Arthur's  intimate  knowledge  of  the  state 
of  his  future  father-in-law's  affairs,  might  have  had  something 
to  do  with  his  gi*avity  on  the  occasion.  The  troubles  in  the 
mercantile  world,  that  had  not  left  untouched  the  long- 
established  house  of  Elpliinstone  &  Co.,  had  been  felt  more 
seriously  still  by  ]Mr.  (^Irove,  and  a  doubt  as  to  whether  he 
could,  with  justice  to  all  concerned,  withdraw  so  large  an 
amount  from  his  business,  m  order  to  invest  it  for  his 
daughter's  benefit,  could  not  but  suggest  itself  to  Arthur.  Ho 
was  not  mercenary  ;  it  would  not  be  true  to  say  he  had  not  folt 
a  certain  degree  of  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  his  bride 
would  not  be  altogether  undowered.  But  the  state  of  j\Ii\ 
Grove's  affairs,  was,  to  say  the  least,  not  such  as  to  warrant 
a  present  withdrawal  of  cai)ital  fi*om  his  business,  and  .(Vi'thm' 
might  well  look  grave. 

Not  that  he  troubled  himself  about  it,  however.  Ho  had 
never  felt  so  gi'catly  elated  at  the  prospect  of  mari-ying  an 
heiress,  as  to  feel  much  disappointed  when  the  prospect  be- 
came doubtful.  Ho  knew  that  Miss  Grove  had  a  light  to 
something  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother,  but  he 
said  to  himself  that  her  right  should  be  set  aside,  rather  than 
that  there  should  be  any  defilement  of  hands  in  the  transfer. 
So,  if  io  IMrs.  Grove's  surprise  and  disgust,  ho  remained  silent 
when  she  made  known  the  mimificent  intentions  of  Fannv's 
father,  it  was  not  for  a  reason  that  he  chose  to  discuss  with 
her.  His  remarks  were  reserved  for  IMr.  Grove's  private  eai", 
and  to  him  they  were  made  with  sufficient  plainness. 

As  for  Graeme,  she  could  not  but  see  that  their  anticipated 
change  of  residence  might  help  to  make  certainties  of  all  her 
doubts  and  fears  for  then'  future.  If  she  had  dreaded 
changes  in  their  manner  of  life  l)eforo,  how  much  more  were 
they  to  be  dreaded  no.v?  They  might  have  fallen  back,  after 
a  time,  into  tlieu*  old,  (piet  routine,  w4ien  Fanny  had  (piite  be- 
come one  of  them,  had  they  been  to  remain  stUl  in  the  homo 
where  they  had  all  been   so  happy  together.     But  there 


.  l.\ 


if! 


s 


r  ' 

:  ^ 

'  ' 

^ 

i 

1 

• 

826 


jankt's  love  and  service. 


f! 


seemed  little  hope  of  anything  so  pleasant  as  that  now,  for 
Fanny's  handsome  house  was  in  quite  a  fashionable  neighbor- 
hood, away  from  their  old  friends,  and  that  would  make  a  sad 
difference  in  many  ways,  she  thought ;  and  all  this  added 
much  to  her  misgivings  for  the  futm*e. 

"  Fanny's  house !  "  could  it  ever  seem  hke  home  to  them  1 
Her  thoughts  flew  back  to  Janet  and  MerleviUe,  and  for  a 
little,  notwithstanding  all  the  pain  she  knew  the  thought 
would  give  her  brother,  it  seemed  possible — nay  best  and 
wisest,  for  her  and  Rose  to  go  away. 

"  However,  we  must  wait  awhile  ;  we  must  have  patience. 
Things  may  adjust  themselves  in  a  way  that  I  cannot  see  just 
now." 

In  the  lesson,  which  with  tears  and  prayers  and  a  good- 
will Graeme  had  set  herself  to  leam,  she  had  got  no  farther 
than  this,  "We  must  wait — we  must  have  patience."  And 
she  had  move  cause  to  be  content  with  the  progress  she 
had  made  than  she  thought ;  for,  amid  all  the  cures  for  the 
ills  of  life,  whif  ^  wisdom  remembers,  and  which  folly  forgets, 
what  better,  what  more  effectual  than  "  patient  waiting  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


6; 


A     RE  you  quite  sure  that  you  are  glad,  Graeme." 


"  I  am  very  glad,  Will.  Why  should  you  doubt  it  ? 
You  know  1  have  not  so  heartsome  a  way  of  showing  my 
delight  as  Eosie  has." 

"  No.  I  don't  know  any  such  thing.  I  can't  be  quite  glad 
myself,  till  I  am  sure  that  you  are  glad,  too." 

"Well,  you  may  be  quite  sure,  Will.  It  is  only  my  old 
perverse  way  of  looking  first  at  the  dark  side  of  things,  and 
this  matter  has  a  dark  side.  It  will  seem  less  like  home 
than  ever  when  you  are  gone,  Will." 

"  Less  like  home  than  ever !"  rejjeated  Will.  "  Why, 
Graeme,  that  sounds  as  if  you  were  not  quite  contented  with 
the  state  of  affairs." 

"Does  it?"  said  Graeme,  laugliing,  but  not  pleasantly. 

"  But,  Graeme,  everything  has  turned  out  better  than  we 
expected.     Fanny  is  very  nice,  and " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Graeme,  heartily.  "Everj'thing  has 
turned  out  .nuch  better  than  we  used  to  fear.  I  remember  the 
time  when  I  was  quite  afi*aid  of  Fanny  and  her  fine  house — 
my  old  perversity,  you  see." 

"I  remember,"  said  Will.,  gravely. 

"  I  was  quite  morbid  on  the  subject,  at  one  time.  Mamma 
Grove  v;as  a  perfect  night-mare  to  me.  And  really,  she  is — 
well !  she  is  not  a  very  formidable  person,  after  all." 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  I  think  we  cor.ld  disjjcuse  with  mamma 
Grove,"  said  Will,  with  a  shrug. 

"  Oh !  that  is  because  she  is  down  upon  you  in  the  matter 
of  Master  Tom.     You  will  have  to  take  him.  Will." 

(327) 


if' 


328 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SKEVICK. 


'i      5 


M  'I 


H4 


"  Of  course.  But  then,  I  would  do  a  great  deal  more  than 
that  for  Fanny's  brother,  without  all  this  talk." 

"  But  then,  without  '  all  this  talk,'  as  you  call  it,  you  might 
not  have  discovered  that  the  favor  is  done  you,  nor  that  the 
letter  to  her  English  friend  will  more  than  compensate  you, 
for  gomg  fifty  miles  out  of  yom*  way  for  the  boy." 

"  Oh !  well,  it  is  her  way,  and  a  very  stupid  way.  Let 
her  rest." 

'*  Yes,  let  her  rest.  And,  Will.,  you  are  not  to  think  I  am 
not  glad  that  you  are  going  home.  I  would  choose  no  other 
lot  for  you,  than  the  one  that  is  before  you,  an  opportunity 
to  prepare  yourself  for  usefulness,  and  a  wide  field  to  labor 
in.  Only  I  am  afraid  I  would  stipulate  that  the  field  should 
be  a  Canadian  one." 

"  Of  course.     Canada  is  my  home." 

"  Or  Merle\'ille.  Deacon  Snow  seems  to  think  you  are  to 
be  called  to  that  field,  when  you  are  ready  to  be  called." 

•'  But  that  is  a  long  day  hence.  Perhaps,  the  deacon  may 
cliange  his  mind,  when  he  hears  that  I  am  going  home  to 
learn  from  the  '  British.' " 

"  There  is  no  fear.  Sandy  has  completed  the  work  which 
my  father  and  Janet  began.  Mr.  Snow  is  tolerant  of  the 
North  British,  at  any  rate.  What  a  pleasant  life  our  Merle- 
ville  hfe  was.  It  seems  strange  that  none  of  us,  but  Norman, 
has  been  back  there.     It  won't  be  long  now,  however." 

"  I  am  afi'aid  I  cannot  wait  for  Emily's  wedding.  But  I 
shall  certainly  go  and  see  them  all,  before  I  go  to  Scotland." 

"  If  you  do,  I  shall  go  with  you,  and  spend  the  summer 
there." 

"  And  leave  Rose,  here  ?"  said  Will.,  in  some  surprise. 

"  No.  I  wish  to  go  for  Rose's  sake,  as  much  as  for  my 
own.  It  seems  as  though  going  to  Merle\'iUe  and  Janet, 
would  put  us  all  right  agam." 

"I  hope  you  may  both  be  put  right,  without  going  so 
far,"  said  Wm. 

"  Do  you  know,  Will.,  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  I  can 
be  the  same  person  who  came  here  with  Rose  and  you  ?  Cir- 


JANKT  8    LOVE   AND   SIOEVICE. 


329 


cumstanccs  do  change  people,  Avhctlior  tliey  will  or  not.  I 
think  I  should  conio  back  to  my  old  self  ap^ain,  with  Janet 
to  take  me  to  task,  in  her  old  sharp,  loving  way." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,  Graeme." 

"  Don't  you?  AVell,  tliat  is  evidence  that  I  have  changed; 
and  that  I  have  not  improved.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  I  un- 
derstand myself." 

""What  is  wrong  with  you,  Graeme." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Will.  I  don't  know  whether  the  A\Tong 
is  with  mo,  or  with  matters  and  things  in  general.  But 
there  is  no  good  in  vexing  you,  unless  you  could  tell  me  how 
to  help  it." 

"If  I  knew  what  is  wrong  I  might  try,"  said  Will.,  gravely. 

"  Then,  tell  me,  what  possible  good  I  shall  be  able  to  do  in 
the  world,  when  I  shall  no  longer  have  you  to  care  for?" 

"  If  you  do  no  good,  you  will  fall  far  short  of  your  duty." 

"  I  know  it.  Will.  But  useless  as  my  way  of  life  is,  I  can- 
not change  it.  Next  year  must  bo  like  this  one,  and  except 
nursing  you  in  yoiu'  illness,  and  Fanny  in  hers,  I  have  done 
nothing  worth  naming  as  work." 

"  That  same  nursing  was  not  a  little.  And  do  vou  call  tho 
housekeeping  nothing?  It  is  all  verj- well,  Fanny's  jingling 
her  keys,  and  playing  lady  of  the  house,  but  we  all  know 
who  has  the  care  and  trouble.  If  last  vear  has  nothing  to 
show  for  work,  I  think  you  may  make  the  same  complaint 
of  all  the  years  that  went  before.  It  is  not  that  you  are 
getting  weary  of  the  '  woman's  work,  that  is  never  done,'  is 
it,  dear  ?" 

"  No,  Will.  I  hope  not.  I  think  not.  But  this  last  year 
has  been  very  different  from  all  former  years.  I  used  to 
.have  something  definite  to  do,  something  that  no  one  else 
could  do  as  well.  I  cannot  explain  it.  You  would  laugh  at 
the  trifles  that  make  the  difference." 

**I  see  one  difference,"  said  Will.  "  You  have  the  trouble, 
and  Fanny  has  the  credit." 

"  No,  Will.  Don't  say  that.  I  don't  think  that  troubles  me. 
It  ought  not ;  but  it  is  not  good  for  Fanny,  to  allow  her  to  sup- 


330 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


pose  she  has  the  rcsponsibihty  and  caro,  when  she  has  not, 
rcall}'.  And  it  is  not  fair  to  her.  "Wlicn  the  time  coracs  that 
she  must  liave  them,  she  will  feci  the  trouble  all  the  more  for 
her  present  d(;lusion.  And  she  is  learning  nothing.  She  is 
utterly  careless  about  details,and  complicates  matters  when  she 
thinks  she  is  doing  most,  though  I  must  say,  Nelly  is  very  toler- 
ant of  the  '  whims'  of  hor  young  mistress,  and  makes  the  best 
of  everything.  But  Will.,  all  tliis  must  sound  to  you  like 
finding  fault  with  Fanny,  and  indeed,  I  don't  wish  to  do  any- 
thing so  disagi'eeable." 

*'  I  am  sure  you  do  not,  Graeme.  I  think  I  can  under- 
stand yom*  troubles,  but  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
to  help  them." 

"  No,  Will.  The  kind  of  life  we  are  living  is  not  good  for 
any  of  us.  What  I  want  for  myself  is  some  kind  of  real 
work  to  do.     And  I  want  it  for  Rose." 

"  But,  Graeme,  you  would  never  surely  think  of  going  away, 
— I  mean,  to  stay  always  ?" 

"Why  not?  We  are  not  needed  here.  Rose  and  I.  No, 
Will.  I  don't  think  it  is  that  I  am  gi'owing  tired  of  '  woman's 
work.'  It  was  very  simple,  humble  work  I  used  to  do,  trifles, 
odds  and  ends  of  the  work  of  life;  stitching  and  mending, 
sweeping  and  dusting,  singing  and  playing,  reading  and  talk- 
ing, each  a  trifling  matter,  taken  by  itself.  But  of  such 
trifles  is  made  up  the  hfe's  work  of  thousands  of  women, 
far  wiser  and  better  than  I  am;  and  I  was  content  with  it. 
It  helped  to  make  a  happy  home,  and  that  was  much." 

"You  have  forgotten  something  in  your  lish  of  trifles, 
Graeme, — ^your  love  and  care  for  us  all. " 

"  No,  Will.  These  are  implied.  It  is  the  love  and  care 
that  made  all  these  trifles  really  '  woman's  work.'  A  poor 
dreary  work  it  would  be  without  these." 

'*  And,  Graeme,  is  there  nothing  still,  to  sanctify  your  daily 
labor,  and  make  it  work  indeed  ?"  said  Will.  » 

There  is,  indeed.  Will.  If  I  were  only  siu'e  that  it  is  my 
work.  But,  I  am  not  sure.  And  it  seems  as  though — some- 
where in  the  world,  there  must  be  something  better  worth 


JANKTS    LOVK    AND   SEliVKi:. 


asi 


3n, 


fly 

Ith 


the  namo  of  work,  for  mo  to  do,"  And  letting  her  hands 
fall  inlior  lap,  she  looked  a'.vay  over  Ihe  numljerlcsa  roofs  tf 
the  city,  to  the  {^roy  Une  of  the  river,  beyoud. 

"  Oh  !  Will.,"  she  went  on  in  a  little,  "  you  do  not  know. 
You  who  have  your  life's  work  laid  out  Ijefore  you,  can  never 
understand  how  it  is  \\ith  inc.  Yoii  know  the  work  before 
you  is  your  work — givc-n  you  bj'  (lod  himself.  You  need 
have  no  misf,'ivin;^'s,  you  can  make  no  mistake.  And  look 
at  the  diflerence.  Think  of  all  the  years  I  may  have  to  spend, 
doing  the  forgotten  ends  of  another's  duty,  filling  up  the 
time  with  trifles,  visits,  frivolous  talk,  or  fancy  work,  or  other 
thmgs  which  do  good  to  no  one.  And  all  the  tune  not  know- 
ing whether  I  ought  to  stay  in  the  old  round,  or  break  away 
from  it  all — never  siu'e  but  that  elsewhere,  I  might  find  whole- 
some work  for  God  and  man." 

Very  seldom  did  Graeme  allow  herself  to  put  her  troubled 
thoughts  into  words,  and  she  rose  now  and  went  al)out  the 
room,  as  if  ,si.'3  wished  to  put  an  end  to  their  talk.  But 
Will,  said, 

"  Even  if  it  were  true  and  real,  all  you  say,  it  may  not  be 
for  long.  Some  day,  you  don't  know  how  soon,  you  may 
have  legitimate  '  woman's  work'  t<3  do. — love,  and  sympathy, 
and  care,  and  all  the  rest,  without  encroaching  on  Fanny's 
domain." 

He  began  gravely,  but  blushed  and  stammered,  and 
glanced  with  laughing  deprecation  at  liis  sister,  as  he  ended. 
She  did  not  laugh. 

"I  have  thought  of  that,  too.  It  seems  so  natui'al  and 
proper,  and  m  the  common  com'se  of  things,  that  a  woman 
should  marry.  And  there  have  been  times,  during  this  last 
year,  when,  just  to  get  away  fi'om  it  all  I  have  thought  that 
any  change  would  be  for  the  better.     But  it  would  not  be 


right,  unless 


she  hesitated. 


"  No,  unless  it  was  the  right  person,  and  all  that,  but  may 
we  not  reasonably  hope  that  the  right  person  may  come  ?'' 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it.  Will.  There  must  be  some  other 
way  than  that     Many  women  f.jd  an  appropriate  work  to 


I', 


I  1 


332 


JA^'ETB    LOVi;   AND    SERVICE. 


m 


'  1 


;«< 


I 


,  ■  ■ 


,:     '>'A 


do  without  iJQarryin;^.  I  wish  I  could  do  as  the  Mcrlcvillo 
gii'ls  used  to  do,  spin  and  weave,  or  keep  a  school." 

"  But,  they  don't  spin  and  weave  now,  since  the  factories 
have  been  built.     And  as  for  school-keei)ing " 

"It  would  bo  work,  good  wholosouie  work,  in  which, 
with  God's  help,  I  might  try  to  do  as  our  father  and  mother 
did,  and  leave  the  world  better  for  my  labor." 

"  But  you  could  not  jiai't  fi'om  Rose,  and  Ai'thur  could 
never  be  made  to  see  it  right  that  you  should  go  away," 
said  Will. 

"  Rose  should  go  with  mc.  And  Arthur  would  not  like  it 
at  first,  nor  Fanny,  but  thoy  would  reconcile  themselves  to  it 
in  time.  And  as  to  the  school,  that  is  only  one  kind  of  work, 
though  there  are  few  Idnds  left  for  a  woman  to  dp,  the  moro's 
the  pity." 

'•  There  is  work  enough  of  the  best  khid.  It  is  the  re- 
muneration ihat  is  scant.  And  the  remuneration  could  not 
be  made  a  secondary  consideration,  if  you  left  h(mie." 

"In  one  sense,  it  ought  to  be  secondary.  But  I  tliink 
it  must  be  delightful  to  feel  that  one  is  'making  one's 
hving,'  as  Mr.  Snow  would  say.  I  shoukl  like  to  know  how 
it  feels  to  be  quite  independent  Will.,  I  must  confess." 

"But,  Graeme,  there  is  no  need;  and  it  would  make  Ar- 
thur quite  unhappy,  if  ho  were  to  hear  you  speak  m  that 
way.     Even  to  mo,  it  sounds  a  little  hke  pride,  or  discontent." 

"Does  it,  Will.  That  is  dreadful.  It  is  quite  possible 
that  these  evil  elements  enter  into  my  vexed  thoughts.  We 
won't  speak  any  more  about  it.  Will." 

"  But,  why  should  we  not  speak  about  it  ?  You  may  be 
quite  right.  At  anyrate,  you  are  not  likely  to  set  yourself 
right,  by  keeping  your  vexed  thoughts  to  yourself." 

But,  if  Graeme  had  been  ever  so  willing,  there  was  no 
more  time  just  now.  There  was  a  knock'  at  the  door,  and 
Sarah,  the  housemaid,  presented  herself. 

"  If  you  please.  Miss  Graeme,  do  you  think  I  might  go 
out  as  usual.     It  is  Wednesday,  you  know." 

Weihiesday  v\'as  the  night  of  Ihc  weekly  Icctm'c,  in  Sarah's 


JANETS    I-')Vi:    AXn    SKUVrCE. 


333 


be 

3lf 


go 
's 


Mrlc.  She  was  a  pood  little  givl,  and  a  worshipper  in  a  small 
way  of  a  popular  younj^  pieaohcr  of  tho  day. 

"If  Ndly  thinks  she  can  n)ana;,'o  without  you,"  said 
Graeme. 

"  It  was  Nelly  pi'oporsed  it.  She  can  do  very  well,  imless 
Mrs.  Elliott  brings  homo  sonio  one  with  her,  which  is  un- 
likely so  Lite." 

"  Well,  go  then,  and  don't  b(3  late.  And  bo  sure  ycu  conio 
home  with  tho  Shaws'  Sarah,"  said  Miss  Elliott. 

"  They  arc  late,"  said  "Will.  "  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  wait 
for  chmier.     I  promised  to  bo  with  Dr.  D.  at  seven." 

They  went  down  stahs  together.  Nelly  remonstrated, 
with  great  earnestness  against  Will.'s  "  putting  himself  off 
with  bread  and  cheese,  instead  of  dinner." 

"  Though  3'ou  need  care  the  less  abcmt  it,  that  tho  dinner 's 
spoiled  already.  The  fowls  wercna  much  to  begin  with.  It 
needs  sense  and  discretion  to  market,  as  well  as  to  do  most 
things,  and  folk  that  A\inna  come  homo  at  tho  right  hour 
must  content  themselves  with  things  overdone,  or  else  in  the 
dead  thraw." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  Will,  should  lose  his  dinner,"  said 
Graeme  ;  "but  they  cannot  be  long  m  coming  now." 

"  There 's  no  sajing.  They  may  meet  in  with  folk  that  may 
keep  them  to  suit  their  am  convenience.  It  has  happened 
before." 

]\Iore  than  once,  when  Fanny  had  been  out  with  her  mother, 
they  had  gone  for  Arthur  and  dined  at  Grove  house,  without 
giving  duo  notice  at  homo,  and  the  rest,  after  long  waiting, 
had  eaten  their  dinner  out  of  season.  To  have  a  success  in 
her  depai"tment  rendered  vain  by  careless  or  culpable  delay, 
was  a  trial  to  Nelly  at  iiny  time.  Aiid  if  j\Irs.  Grove  had 
anythuig  to  do  with  causmg  it,  the  trial  was  all  the  greater. 

For  Nelly — to  use  her  own  words — had  no  patience  with 
that  '•  meddlesome  person."  Any  mterferenco  on  liei'  part  in 
household  matters,  was  considered  by  her  a  reflection  on  the 
housekeeping  of  her  young  ladies  before  Mrs.  Arthur  came 
among  them,  and  was  resented  accordingly.     All  hints,  sug- 


I , 


il 


<    il 


334 


JANl/r  tj    LOVE    AND    SERVICK. 


gcstions,  rcf'ipcs,  or  even  direct  instnictions  from  her,  were 
iiUeiiv  ignored  b;y  Nell_y,  when  it  could  be  done  without  posi- 
tive disobedience  to  Miss  Graeme  or  Mrs.  Elliott.  If  direct 
orders  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  do  violence  to  her  feelings 
to  the  extent  of  availuig  herself  of  Mrs.  Grove's  experience,  it 
was  done  under  protest,  or  with  an  open  mcredulousness  as 
to  results,  at  the  same  time  initating  and  amusing. 

She  had  no  reason  ro  suppose  that  Mrs.  Grove  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  her  venation  to-night,  but  she  chose  to  as- 
sume it  to  be  so,  and  following  Graeme  into  the  dmuig  room, 
whore  "Will,  sat  conter.tedly  eating  his  bread  and  cheese,  she 
said, 

"  As  there  is  no  coimting  on  the  time  of  their  home  coming, 
with  other  folks'  convenience  to  consult,  vou  had  best  let  me 
bring  up  the  dinner.  Miss  Graeme." 

"  We  wiU  wait  a  few  minutes  longer.  There  is  no  haste," 
said  Graeme,  quietly. 

Graeme  sat  a  long  time  looldng  out  of  the  window  before 
they  came — so  long  that  Nelly  came  up  stau's  again  intending 
to  expostulate  still,  but  she  did  not ;  she  went  down  again, 
quietly,  muttering  to  herself  as  she  went, 

"  I  '11  no*  vex  her.  She  has  her  ain  troubles,  I  daresay, 
with  her  young  brother  going  away,  and  many  another  thing 
that  I  ken  nothing  about.  It  would  ill  set  me  to  add  to  her 
vexations.  She  is  not  at  peace  with  herself,  that 's  easy  to  bo 
seen." 


CHAPTER    XXX 


/^  KAEME  was  not  at  peace  with  herself,  and  had  not 
\^^^  been  so  ior  a  long  time,  and  to-night  she  was  angry 
with  herself  for  having  spoiled  Will.'s  pleasure,  by  letting  him 
see  that  she  was  ill  at  case. 

"  For  there  is  no  good  vexing  him.  He  cannot  even  ad- 
vise me  ;  and,  indeed,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  the  coui'age 
really  to  go  away." 

But  she  continued  to  vex  herself  more  than  was  wise,  as 
she  sat  there  waiting  for  the  rest  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

They  came  at  last,  but  not  at  all  as  they  ought  to  have 
come,  with  the  air  of  culprits,  but  chatting  and  laughing 
aaenily,  and  quite  at  then*  Icism-c,  accompanied — to  NeUy's 
indignant  satisfaction  —  by  Mrs.  Grove.  Graeme  could 
hardly  restrain  an  exclamation  of  amusemeut  as  she 
hastened  toward  the  door.  Rose  came  fii-st,  and  her  sister's 
question  as  io  then*  delay  was  stopjied  by  a  look  at  her 
radiant  face. 

"  Graeme,  I  have  something  to  tell  j'ou.  What  is  the 
most  dehghtful,  and  almost  the  most  unlikely  tiling  that 
could  happen  to  us  ?  " 

Graeme  shook  her  head. 

"I  should  have  to  consider  a  while  first — I  am  not  good 
at  guessing.  But  won't  it  keep  ?  Nelly  is  out  of  all 
patience." 

But  Rose  was  too  excited  to  heed  her. 

"No  ;  it  won't  keep.     (»ucss  who  is  coming — Janet!  " 

Graeme  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

•'  Arthiu*  got  a  letter  from  I\Ir.  Sncjw  to-day.     Read  it." 

Gi'aeme  re^d.  Rose  looking  over  her  shoulder. 

(335) 


I 


'•        :   1 


336 


JANKT  S   LOVK   AND   SKRVICE. 


IW: 


1    I 


:'■'■->' 


m 


it 


#■ 


"I  am  very  glad.  But,  Eosie,  you  must  make  haste. 
Fanny  will  be  down  in  a  minute,  and  Nelly  is  impatient." 

"  No  wonder !     But  I  must  tell  her  about  Mrs.  Snow." 

And  with  her  bonnet  in  her  hand,  she  went  dancing  down 
the  kitchen  stau's.  Nelly  would  have  been  in  an  implacable 
humour,  indeed,  if  the  sight  of  her  bright  face  had  not 
softened  her.  Regardless  of  the  risk  to  mushns  and  riljbons, 
she  sprang  at  once  into  the  midst  of  the  delayed  prepara- 
tions. 

"  Nelly !  ^Vlio  do  you  think  is  coming  ?  You  will  never 
guess.     I  may  as  well  tell  you.     IMi's.  Sn  w !  " 

"  Eh,  me  !  That 's  news,  indeed.  Take  care  of  the  gravy, 
jMiss  Rose,  dear.     And  when  is  she  coming  ?  " 

There  was  not  the  fauitest  echo  of  rebuke  in  Nelly's  tone. 
Tbcro  was  no  possibility  of  refusing  to  be  thus  included  in 
the  family  joy,  even  in  the  presence  of  overdone  fowls  and 
mined  vegetables.  Besides,  she  had  the  greatest  respect  for 
the  oldest  fi'iond  of  the  family,  and  a  gi'eat  desire  to  see  her. 
She  looked  upon  her  us  a  wonderful  person,  and  aspired  in  a 
humble  way  to  imitate  her  virtues,  so  she  set  the  gravy  dish 
on  the  table  to  hear  more. 

"  And  when  will  she  be  coming  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Some  time  in  June.  And,  Nelly,  such  preparations  as 
we  shall  have !  But  it  is  a  shame,  we  kept  dinner  waiting. 
We  could  not  help  it,  indeed." 

"You  dinna  need  to  tell  me  that.  I  heard  who  came 
with  you.  Carry  you  up  the  plates,  and  the  dinner  will  bo 
uj)  directly." 

"  And  so,  your  old  nurse  is  coming  ?  "  said  Mi's.  Grove, 
after  they  had  been  some  time  at  the  table.  "  How  dehght- 
ful !  You  look  quite  excited.  Rose.  She  is  a  very  nice  per- 
son, I  believe,  Miss  Elliott." 

Graeme  smiled.  Mrs.  Grove's  generally  descrijjtivo  term 
hardly  indicated  the  manifold  vu'tues  of  their  fiiend ;  but, 
before  she  could  say  so,  IMrs.  Grove  continued. 

"  We  must  think  of  some  way  of  doing  her  honor.  We 
must  get  up  a  little  fete — a  pic-nic  or  something.     Will  she 


jaxet's  love  axd  service. 


337 


stay  here  or  at  Mr.  Birnic's.  She  is  a  fi'icncl  of  his,  I  suppose, 
as  Itoso  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  tell  him  eho  is  coming. 
It  is  rather  awkward  havmg  such  people  staying  in  tho 
house.  They  are  apt  to  fancy,  you  know  ;  and  reall^',  one 
cannot  'lovote  all  one's  time  —  " 

Rose  sent  her  a  glance  of  indignation ;  Graeme  only 
smiled.  Arthur  had  not  heard  her  last  remai'k,  so  he 
answered  the  first. 

*-I  doubt  such  things  would  hardly  be  in  Mrs.  Snow's 
way.  jNIrs.  Grove  could  hardly  make  a  lion  of  our  Janet,  I 
fancy,  Graeme." 

"  I  fancy  not,"  said  Graeme,  quietly. 

"  Oh !  I  assui'e  you,  I  shall  be  willing  to  take  any  trouble. 
I  truly  appreciate  humble  worth.  We  so  seldom  find  among 
the  lower  classes  ami;liing  like  the  faithfulness,  and  tho 
gi-atitud  J  manifested  by  this  person  to  yoiu*  family.  You 
must  tell  me  all  about  her  some  day.  Rose." 

Rose  was  regarding  her  with  eyes  out  of  which  all  indigntt- 
tion  had  passed,  to  make  room  for  astonishment.  Mrs. 
Grove  w^ent  on. 

"  Did  n't  she  leave  her  husband,  or  something,  to  come 
with  you  ?  Certainly  a  lifetime  of  such  devotion  should  bo 
rewarded —  " 

*'  By  a  pic-nic,"  said  Rose,  as  Mrs.  Grove  hesitated. 

"  Rose,  don't  be  satirical,"  said  Arthur,  trying  not  to  lau;^'i. 

"  I  am  siu*e  you  must  be  dehghted,  Fanny — Arthur's  (jld 
nurse  you  know.  It  need  not  prevent  you  going  to  tho  sea- 
side, however.    It  is  not  you  she  comes  to  sec." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Arthur,  smiling  across 
tho  table  to  his  pretty  wife.  "  I  fancy  Fanny  has  as  much 
to  do  with  the  visit  as  any  of  us.  She  will  have  to  be  on  her 
good  behaviour,  and  to  look  her  prettiest,  I  can  assure  her." 

"  And  Janet  was  not  Arthur's  nurse,"  said  Rose.  "  Graeme 
was  baby  when  she  came  first." 

"  And  I  fancy  nursing  was  but  a  small  part  of  Janet's 
w^ork  in  those  dnys,"  said  Arthur.     "  She  was  nurse,   and 
cook,  and  housemaid,  all  in  one.     Eh,  (Jraeii)e?  " 
.     15 


l.l 

i 

I 

i 


\ 


338 


JAXr.TS    LUVE   AM)    SERVICE. 


.■S!i 


f  I 


■g'l 


"Ay,  antl  more  than  that — rnoro  than  could  bo  told  in 
words,"  said  Graeme,  Avith  glistcnin£^  eyes. 

"  And  I  am  sure  you  will  like  her,"  said  Rose,  looldng 
straight  into  ]\Irs.  Grove's  face.  "  Her  lu;sband  is  very  rich. 
I  think  he  must  be  almost  the  richest  man  in  Merle ville." 

Arthur  did  not  rc^provo  Rose  tliis  time,  though  she  well  de- 
served it.  8I10  road  her  reproof  m  Graeme's  look,  and 
blushed  and  hung  her  head.  She  did  not  look  very  much 
abashed,  however.  She  Imew  Arthur  was  enjoying  the  home 
thrust ;  but  the  subject  was  pursued  no  farther. 

"Do  you  know,  Fanny,"  said  Mrs.  Grove,  m  a  little,  "I 
saw  Mrs.  Tihuan  tliis  morning,  and  a  very  superior  person 
she  turns  out  to  be.  She  has  seen  better  days.  It  is  sad  to 
see  a  lady — for  she  seems  to  have  been  quite  a  lady — so  re- 
duced." 

"  And  v»-lio  is  Mrs.  Tihnan,"  asked  Artluur. 

Fami}'  looked  annoyed,  but  her  mamma  went  on. 

"She  is  a  person  jNIi's.  Gridiey  was  speakmg  to  Famiy 
about — a  very  worthy-  person  mdeed." 

"She  was  speaking  to  you,  you  mean,  mamma,"  said 
Fanny. 

"  Was  it  to  me  ?    Well,  it  is  all  the  same.    She  is.  a  widow. 

She  lived  in  Q a  while  and  then  came  here,  and  was  a 

housekeeper  in  Haughton  Place.  I  don't  know  why  she 
left.  Some  one  married,  I  think.  Since  then  she  has  been 
a  sick  nurse,  but  it  did  n't  agi*ee  with  her,  and  lately  she  has 
been  a  cook  in  a  small  hotel." 

"  She  seems  to  have  experienced  vicissitudes,"  said  Ai'thur, 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"  Has  she  not  ?  And  a  very  worthy  person  she  is,  I  under- 
stand, and  an  admirable  cook.  She  markets,  too — or  she 
did  at  Haughton  House — and  that  is  such  a  relief.  She 
must  be  an  invaluable  servant." 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed,"  said  ^\i-thur,  fiS  nobody  else 
seemed  inchned  to  say  anything. 

Graeme  and  Rose  were  speaking  about  Janet  antl  her  ex- 
pected visit,  and  Fanny  sat  silent  and  embarrassed.    But 


Jz\NET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


339 


m 


Nelly,  uasy  in  talcing  away  the  things,  lost  nothing  of  what 
was  said  ;  and  Mi-s.  Grove,  strange  to  say,  was  not  altogether 
inattcutivc  to  the  changing  face  of  the  energetic  table  maid. 
An  uncomplimentary  remark  had  escaped  the  lady,  as  to  the 
state  of  the  overdone  fowls,  and  Nelly  "  could  put  this  and 
that  together  as  ^^■cll  as  another."  The  operation  of  removing 
the  things  could  not  be  indefinitely  prolonged,  however,  and 
as  Nelly  shut  the  door  Mrs.  Grove  said, 

"  She  is  out  of  place  now,  Fanny,  and  would  just  suit  you. 
But  you  must  be  prompt  if  you  wish  to  engage  her." 

"  Oh  !  there  is  no  hui'ry  about  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Fanny, 
glauchig  uneasily  at  Graeme.  But  Graeme  took  no  notice. 
Mrs.  (irove  was  rather  in  the  habit  of  discussing  domestic 
affau's  at  the  table,  and  of  Icaviiig  Graeme  .out  of  the  conver- 
sation. She  was  very  willing  to  be  left  out.  Besides,  she 
never  thought  of  influencing  Fanny  in  the  presence  of  her 
stepmother. 

"  Oh !  but  I  assiu'c  vou  there  is,"  said  ]\Ii's.  Grove. 
"  There  are  several  ladies  wishing  to  have  her.  Mrs.  Ruthven 
among  the  rest." 

"  Oh !  it  is  such  a  trouble  changing,"  said  Fann}-,  wearily, 
as  if  she  had  had  a  trying  experience  and  spoke  advisedly. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  only  changing  for  the  worse  that  is  so 
troublesome,"  said  Mrs.  Grove,  and  she  had  a  right  to  know. 
"  I  advise  you  not  to  let  this  opportunity  pass." 

"  But,  after  all,  Nelly  does  very  well.  She  is  stupid  some- 
times and  cross,  but  they  are  all  that,  more  or  less,  I  fe-uj^)- 
p{ise,"  said  Fanny. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Fanny,"  said  Arthur,  who  saAv  that 
his  wife  was  annoyed  without  very  well  lai owing  why.  "I 
daresay  Nelly  is  a  better  servant — notwithstanding  the  un- 
fortunate chickens  of  to-day,  which  was  om*  own  fault,  you 
know — than  the  decayed  gentlewoman.  She  will  ho  a  second 
Janet,  yet — an  institution,  an  established  fact  in  the  history 
of  the  family.  AVo  couldn't  do  wiihout  Nolly.  YAi, 
Graeme  ?  " 

(iraeme  smiled,  and  said  nothuig.     Rose  ans\V(  rod  for  her. 


p* 


1 


3tO 


•JANKTS    LOVK    AM)   hKUVICK. 


i:i; 


fit 


K  '  ■ 


:''0i 


"Ni>,  iii(l(M'il.     I  (im  K')  ^liul  Nelly  will  mci  Mvh.  Snow." 

"Very  well,"  H.'iid  Mrs.  (Jr>)V(\  "Siuco  AEis.s  I'jllioit  Hooins 
to  bo  HjitiMlu'd  with  Nelly,  I  snp]>()H(!  slio  must  sttiy.  It  is  i\ 
pity  you  hsitl  not  known  Hoonor,  Fanny,  ho  iis  to  savo  mo  tho 
troublo  of  m.'ikinj^  an  appointment  for  her.  But  she  may  as 
W(>11  come,  and  you  can  soo  her  at  any  rate." 

Her  <'arria;;e  boinj^  at  tho  door,  she  went  away,  and  a 
ratlu  r  awkward  silence  followed  her  departure. 

"What  is  it  all  about!  Who  is  Mrs.  TilmanV"  asked 
Arthur. 

"tSome  one  I^Irs,  Grove  has  seen,"  said  r«racme,  evasively. 

"  But  what  about  Nelly  ?  Surely  you  are  not  thinking'  of 
chau<j;infif  servants,  (Iraemo?'' 

*'  Oh !  1  hope  not ;  but  Nolly  has  been  out  of  sortfi  lately — 
gi'umbled  a  little  —  " 

"  Out  of  sorts,  j;ruml)letl ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  vexed  that 
IVIrs.  (irove  had  introduced  the  subject,  and  more  vexed  still 
that  Arthur  should  have  addressed  his  question  to  Graeme. 
"  She  has  been  very  dis;igi'eeable,  indeed,  not  to  say  imijoi-ti- 
ncnt,  and  I  shall  not  bear  it  any  lon«;:fer." 

Poor  little  Fanny  could  hardly  keep  back  her  tears. 

"Impertinent  to  you,  Fanny,"  cried  Graeme  and  Arthiur  iu 
a  breath. 

"  Well,  to  mannna — and  she  is  not  very  respectful  to  mo, 
sometimes,  and  manuna  says  N(^lly  has  been  lon^  en(JUfi[h 
here.  Sc^rvants  alwjiys  take  liberties  after  a  time  ;  and,  bo- 
sides,  she  k)oks  upon  Crraemo  as  mistress  rather  than  mo. 
She  (piite  treats  me  like  a  child,"  conthmod  Fanny,  hov  in- 
di<T^nation  increasin{:f  as  she  proceeded. 

•*  And,  besides,"  she  added,  after  there  had  been  a  moment's 
uncomfortable  silence,  " Nelly  wishes  to  go." 

"Is  Barkis  willinj^  at  last?"  said  Arthiu*,  tryinjj  to  laugh 
off  the  (hscomfort  of  the  moment. 

Bose  laughed  too.  It  had  aiVorded  them  all  much  amuse- 
nient  to  watch  the  slow  courtship  of  the  (lignifi(>d  jVfr. 
Stirling.  Nellj'  always  denied  that  there  was  anything  more 
in  the  gai'dcucr's  attentions,  than  just  the  good-will  and  friend- 


JANF.TM    liOVR   AND    HmiVICK. 


341 


lincRS  of  a  coiuitryiiuui,  mid  ho  (icrtjiiiily  wiis  a  lonfj  tiiuo  in 
coming  to  tlus  i)oiiit  tliey  all  aclciiowltMl^cd. 

"NoiiHoiiHc,  Artljur!  That  lias  notliing  to  <lo  with  it," 
Haid  Fanny. 

"  Thoii,  slio  nniHt  bo  j^'oin^' to  her  Ki,st(;r — tho  lady  with  a 
fabulouH  nuiuhcr  of  (!ow.s  and  chiJdron.  Slio  has  Hpokcn 
abcnit  that  cvory  Huninuir,  more  or  Icsh.  Her  oonsoionco 
pricks  her,  every  new  baby  she  heara  of.  But  she  will  jjet 
over  it.     It  is  all  nonsense  about  her  leavinj^." 

"  But  it  is  not  nonsense,"  said  Fanny,  shaiply.  "  Of  course 
Graeme  will  not  like  her  to  f^o,  but  Nelly  is  very  obslinato 
and  disafj^'oeablt;,  and  niannna  says  I  sliall  never  be  mistress 
in  my  own  house  while  she  stays.  And  I  think  we  ouj^dit 
to  take  a  good  servant  when  we  have  tho  cliance.'* 

"But  how  good  a  servant  is  slieV"  asked  Arthur. 

"  Ditln't  you  hear  what  niarnma  said  about  her?  And,  of 
course,  she  has  references  and  written  characters,  and  all 
that  sort  of  tlnng." 

"  Well,  I  think  we  may  as  well  '  sleep  upon  it,'  as  Janet 
used  to  say.  There  will  be  time  enough  to  decide  after  to- 
night," said  Arthur,  taking  up  his  newspaper,  more  annoyed 
than  ho  was  willing  to  confess. 

Tho  rest  sat  silent,  lloso  was  indignant,  and  it  needed  a 
warning  glanco  from  (Iraeme  to  keep  her  indignation  from 
overflowing.  Oraemci  was  indignant,  but  not  sur^jrised. 
Indeed,  Nelly  had  given  warning  that  she  was  to  leave  ;  but 
she  hoped  and  behoved  that  she  would  think  better  of  it, 
and  said  nothing. 

She  was  not  indignant  with  Fanny,  but  with  her  mother. 
She  felt  that  there  was  some  truth  ui  Fanny's  declaration, 
that  Nelly  looked  upon  luu*  as  a  child.  She  had  Nelly's  own 
word  for  that.  She  c(Misidored  her  young  mistress  a  child  to 
be  hiunored  and  "  no'  heeded "  when  any  serious  business 
was  going  on.  But  Fanny  would  not  have  found  this  out 
if  loft  to  herself,  at  least  she  would  not  have  resented  it. 

Tho  easiest  and  most  natural  thing  fi^r  Graeme,  in  tho 
turn  affairs  had  taken,  would  be  to  withdi'aw  from  all  inter- 


I 


342 


.TANF/rS    LOVE   AND   SF^RVICK. 


■V'5 


Vv 


! 


^1 


ferciico,  ami  let  thinji^s  take  their  course  ;  but  just  because 
this  woulil  be  easiest  and  most  aj^rceable,  she  hesitated.  Slio 
felt  that  it  would  not  be  right  to  stand  aside  and  let  Fanny 
punish  herself  and  all  the  rest  because  of  the  meddlesonio 
folly  of  IVIrs.  Grove.  Besides,  it  would  be  so  ungratefid  to 
Nelly,  who  had  served  them  so  faithfully  all  those  years. 
And  yet,  as  she  looked  at  Fanny's  poutinj^  lips  and  fi'owniiig 
br(jw,  her  doubts  as  to  the  propriety  of  interference  grew 
stronger,  and  she  could  only  say  to  herself,  with  a  sigh, 

"  We  must  have  patience  and  wait." 

And  the  matter  was  settled  without  her  interference, 
though  not  to  her  satisfaction.  Before  a  week,  Nelly  was  on 
her  way  to  the  country  to  lyiake  acquaintance  of  her  sister's 
cows  and  children,  and  the  estimable  Mrs.  Tilnum  was  in- 
stalled in  her  place.  It  was  an  uncomfortable  time  for  all. 
Hose  was  indignant,  and  took  no  pains  to  hide  it.  Graeme 
was  annoyed  and  sorry,  and,  all  the  more,  as  Nelly  did  not 
see  fit  to  confine  the  stilliiess  and  coldness  of  her  leave-tak- 
ings to  Mrs.  Elliott  as  she  ought  to  have  done.  If  half  as 
earnestly  and  fi'ankly  as  she  expressed  her  sorrow  for  her  de- 
parture, Graeme  had  exprcsscid  her  vexation  at  its  cause, 
Nelly  would  have  been  content.  But  Graeme  would  not 
compromise  Fanny,  and  she  would  not  condescend  to  recog- 
nize the  meddlesomeness  of  ]\Irs.  Grove  m  their  aflairs.  And 
yet  she  could  not  bca::.*  that  Nelly  should  go  away,  after  five 
years  of  loving  service,  with  such  angiy  gloom  in  her  kind 
eyes. 

"  Will  you  stay  with  your  sister,  Nelly,  do  you  tliink  ? 
or  will  you  come  back  to  town  and  take  another  place? 
There  are  many  of  our  friends  who  would  be  very  glad  to 
get  you." 

"  I  'm  no'  sure,  Miss  Elhott.  I  have  grown  so  fi'actious 
and  contrary  lately  that  maybe  my  sister  winua  care  to  have 
me.     And  as  to  another  place " 

Nelly  stopped  suddenly.  If  she  had  said  her  say,  it  woidd 
have  been  that  she  could  bear  the  thought  of  no  other  place. 
But  she  said  nothing,  and  went  away — ^ran  away,  indeed. 


.JANKT  S    JA)Vi:    AM)    SKKVICK 


343 


For  when  she  saw  the  soiTowfiil  tears  in  Graeme's  eyes,  and 
folt  tlio  warm  pr(\ssiiro  of  her  hand,  she  felt  she  must  run  or 
Ijreak  out  into  tears  ;  and  so  she  ran,  never  stt^^piny  to  answer 
when  Graeme  said  : 

"  You  T  let  us  hear  from  you,  Nelly.  You  '11  surely  let  us 
hear  from  you  soon  V" 

Tiiere  was  very  little  said  ahout  the  now  order  of  affairs. 
The  remonstrance  which  Fanny  expected  from  Graeme  never 
came.  Mrs.  Grove  continued  to  discuss  domestic  affaii's, 
and  to  leave  Graeme  out,  and  she  was  quite  willing  to  be 
left  out,  and,  after  a  little,  things  moved  on  smoothly.  Mrs. 
Till  11  an  was  a  verj'  rospei 'table-looking  person.  A  httle  stout, 
a  little  red  in  the  fat  ,  perhaps.  Indeed,  very  stout  and  veiy 
red  in  the  face  ;  so  stout  that  Arthur  suggested  the  propriety 
of  having  the  kitchen  stahcase  widened  for  her  benefit ;  and 
so  red  in  the  face  as  to  induce  Graeme  to  keep  her  eyes  on 
the  kcvs  of  tlie  sidelxxard  when  Fannv,  as  she  was  rather 
apt  to  do,  left  them  lying  about.  She  was  a  very  good  ser- 
vant, if  one  might  judge  after  a  week's  tiial ;  and  Fanny 
might  have  triumphed  openly  if  it  had  not  been  that  sho 
felt  a  little  uncomfortable  in  finding  herself,  witiiout  a  strug- 
gle, sole  ruler  in  their  domestic  world.  IMrs.  Tilman  mark- 
eted, and  purchased  the  groceries,  and  that  in  so  dignified  a 
manner  that  Fanny  ahnost  wondered  whether  the  looking 
over  the  grocer's  book  and  the  butcher's  book  might  not  bo 
considered  an  impertinent  interference  on  her  part.  Her 
remarks  and  allusions  were  of  so  dignified  a  character  tis  to 
impress  her  young  mistress  ^Yonderfully.  She  Avas  almost 
ashamed  of  their  limited  estabhshment,  in  view  of  Mrs  Til- 
man's  magnificent  experiences.  But  the  dignitied  cook,  or 
housekeeper,  as  she  preferred  being  c  died,  h[id  profitted  by 
the  afflictive  dispensations  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
her,  and  resigned  herself  to  the  occupancy  of  her  pref^ent 
humble  sphere  in  a  most  exemi)lary  manner. 

To  be  sure,  her  marketing  and  her  shopping,  interfered  a 
little  with  her  less  conspicuous  duties,  and  a  good  deal  more 
than  her  legitimate  share  of  work  was  left  to  Sarah.     Bnt 


•  / 


'■A 


\\ 


!■ 


844 


JANKTS    LOVE    AND    SERVICK. 


fortunately  for  lior  and  the  houscliokl  generally,  Graeme  was 
as  ready  as  ever  to  do  the  odds-and-euds  of  other  people's 
duties,  and  to  remember  things  forgotten,  so  that  the  do- 
mestic machinery  moved  on  with  wonderful  smoothness. 
Not  that  Nelly's  departure  was  no  longer  regretted  ;  but  in 
her  heart  Graeme  believed  that  they  Avould  soon  have  her 
in  her  place  again,  and  she  was  determined  that,  in  the  mean- 
time, all  should  bo  pleasant  and  peaceful  in  their  family  life. 

For  Graeme  had  set  her  heart  on  t^^'o  things.  Fu*st,  ^hat 
there  should  be  no  drawback  to  the  i^leasure  of  IVIi's.  Snow's 
visit ;  and  second,  that  IMi's.  Snow  should  admire  and  love 
Arthur's  wife.  She  had  had  serious  doubts  enough  herself  as 
to  the  wisdom  of  her  brother's  choice,  but  she  tried  to  tliink 
herself  quite  contented  with  it  now.  At  any  rate,  she  could 
not  bear  to  tliink  that  Janet  should  not  be  quite  content. 
Not  that  she  was  very  much  afraid.  For  Graeme's  feelings 
toward  Fanny  had  changed  very  much  smce  she  had  been 
one  of  them.  She  was  not  very  wise  or  sensible,  but  she 
was  very  sweet-tempered  and  affectionate,  and  Graeme  had 
come  to  love  her  dearly,  especially  since  the  very  severe  ill- 
ness from  which  Fanny  was  not  long  recovered.  Her  faulty 
at  least  many  of  them,  were  those  of  education,  which  she 
would  outUve,  Graeme  hoped,  and  any  little  disagreeable  dis- 
play which  it  had  been  their  misfortune  to  witness  dming 
the  year  could,  directly  or  indirectly,  be  traced  to  the  influence 
or  meddlesomeness  of  her  '  ?pmother,  and  so  it  could  easily 
be  overlooked.  This  influence  would  grow  weaker  in  time, 
and  Fanny  would  improve  in  consequence.  The  vanity  and 
the  carelessness  of  the  feelings  of  others,  which  were,  to 
Graeme,  her  worst  faults,  were  faults  that  would  pass  away 
with  time  and  experience,  she  hoped.  Indeed,  they  were  not 
half  so  apparent  as  they  used  to  be,  and  whether  the  change 
was  in  Faimy  or  herself  she  did  not  stop  to  inquire. 

But  she  was  determined  that  her  new  sister  should  appear 
to  the  best  advantage  in  the  eyes  of  their  dear  old  friend,  and 
to  this  end  the  domestic  sky  must  be  kept  clear  of  clouds. 
So  Mrs.  Tilman's  administration  commenced  under  the  most 


JANETS    LOVK   AND   SKIJVICE. 


I]45 


favorablo  oii'fcninstanc'os,  and  tlio  sui-prisc  which  all  felt  at  tho 
quietness  with  which  this  f^'cat  doinostic  revolutitni  had  been 
brought  about  was  beginning  to  give  place,  on  Fanny's  pai-t, 
to  a  little  tiiumi^hant  self-congratulation  which  Rose  was 
mclincd  to  resent.  Graeme  did  not  resent  it,  and  Rose  was 
ready  to  for{.nvo  Fanny's  triumph,  since  Fanny  was  so  ready 
to  share  her  d'^light  at  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Snow's  A-isit.  As 
for  "Will.,  he  saw  nothing  in  the  whole  cuvle  of  events  to  dis- 
turb anybody's  equanimity  or  to  regret,  except,  perhaps,  that 
tho  attraction  of  the  Mclntj-re  children  and  cows  had  proved 
irresistible  to  Nelly  at  last.  And  Ai'thur  congratulated  him- 
self on  the  good  sense  and  good  management  of  his  little 
wife,  firmly  believing  in  the  wisdom  of  the  deluded  httlo 
creature,  never  doubting  that  her  skill  and  will  were  equal  to 
the  triumphant  encounter  with  any  possible  domestic  emerg- 
ency. 

15* 


i 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 


!    I 


V 


^ 


THEY  ciinio  at  last.  Arthur  and  Will,  mot  tlicm  on  tho 
other  Hiilo  of  the  rivt^r,  and  Gracnio  and  Rose  wonld 
fain  have  done  tho  sanio,  but  because  of  falling  rain,  and  be- 
cause of  other  reasons,  it  was  thought  not  best  for  them 
to  go. 

It  was  a  veiy  quiet  meeting — a  little  restrained  and  tearful 
just  at  first ;  but  that  wore  away,  and  Janet's  eyes  rested  on 
tho  bairns  fi'om  whom  she  had  been  so  long  separated  with 
love  and  wonder  and  earnest  scrutiny.  The}'  had  all  changed, 
she  said.  Arthur  was  like  his  father ;  "Will,  was  like  both 
father  and  mother.     As  for  Rosio 

' '  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  *'  I  tliuik  Rosio 
is  nearly  as  bonny  as  her  sister  Marian,"  and  her  eye  rested 
on  the  girl's  blushing  face  with  a  tender  admiration  that  was 
quite  as  much  for  the  dead  as  for  the  li\ing.  Graeme  had 
changed  least  of  all,  she  said  ;  and  yet  in  a  little  she  found 
herself  wondering  whether,  after  all,  Graeme  had  not  changed 
more  than  any  of  them. 

As  for  Fannv  she  foiuid  herself  in  danger  of  being  ovei'- 
looked  in  tho  general  joy  and  excitement,  and  went  about 
jinghng  her  keys,  and  rather  ostentatiously  hastening  tho 
preparations  for  the  refi'eshmcnt  of  the  travellers.  She  need 
not  have  been  afi-aid.  Her  time  was  commg.  Even  now 
she  encountered  an  odd  glance  or  two  fi'om  Mr.  Si  -w. 
who  was  walking  off  his  excitement  in  the  hall.     Th  lO 

was  admiration  mingled  with  the  cui'iosity  they  ex]^.  ssed 
was  evident,  and  Fanny  relented.  What  might  soon  hnvo 
become  a  pout  on  her  pretty  lip  changed  to  a  smile.  They 
(84G) 


^- 


.lANKTS    r/)Vi:   AND   SERVICE. 


U7 


wcro  soon  OH  very  fricmlly  terms  witli  ciicli  other,  and  ho,- 
foro  JiiiK  i  liiul  j;(»(,  llir()ii;^li  with  lier  fii'Mt  tremiih)UH  rorofjf- 
iiitinii  of  her  ])iiii'iiH,  'S\v.  Snow  fmicied  ho  h:i(l  iiiado  a  just 
chUiikiIi!  (4*  the  (|U;dities — <^'oo(l — :iiid  not  so  };c)()d — of  ilie 
l)rett_y  lilth;  hoilsckecixT. 

Al'ter  (hniier  nil  were  num;  id  their  cas(!.  IMr.  Snow  WiJked 
up  !ind  down  tlie  {^uHeiy,  past  th(>  open  window,  and  Arthur  sat 
there  heside  him.  "J'hey  wen;  not  so  far  witluh'awn  fi-om  tho 
rest  hut  tliat  they  (;ould  join  in  tho  conversation  tliat  went  on 
within.  Fanny,  tired  of  tlio  di^niity  of  housekeci)inj,',  broii^^dit 
u  footstool  and  cat  down  beside  (Jraemo,  and  Janet,  scein^j 
how  naturally  and  loviii,<.^ly  the  liand  of  the  elder  sister  rested 
on  the  pretty  bowed  h.ad,  {^'ave  the  little  lady  more  of  her  at- 
tention than  slie  had  hitherto  done,  and  ^row  rather  silent  in 
the  serntiny.  (Iraeme  j^rew  silent  too.  Indeed  she  had  been 
rather  silent  all  the  afternoon  ;  partly  bectuisc  it  pleased  her 
best  to  listen,  and  j^artly  because  she  was  not  always  sure  of 
her  voiee  when  she  tried  to  speak. 

She  was  not  allowed  t<j  be  silent  lonff,  however,  or  to  fall 
into  recollections  too  tender  to  be  shared  by  them  all.  Hose's 
extraordinary  restlessness  prevented  that.  She  seemed  to 
have  lost  the  power  of  sittin^^  still,  and  flitted  about  from  one 
to  another,  now  cxehani^inj,'  a  word  with  Fanny  or  AVilh,  now 
joinin;^  in  the  conversation  that  was  goinfj  on  between  Mr. 
Snow  and  ^Vithur  outside.  At  one  moincnt  she  was  hanging 
over  (Jraeme's  chair,  at  the  next,  kneeling  at  Mrs.  Snow's 
side  ;  and  all  the  time  with  a  face  so  radiant  tliat  even  AVill. 
notii'cd  it,  and  bogged  to  bo  told  the  secret  of  her  d(  light. 

The  truth  w^s,  lioso  was  having  a  little  private  jubilation 
of  her  own.  She  would  not  have  confessed  it  to  Graeme,  she 
was  shy  of  confessing  it  to  herself,  Imt  as  tho  time  of  jVIrs. 
Snowy's  visit  a]iproached,  she  had  not  been  quite  free  fi'om 
misgivhigs.  She  had  a  very  distinct  recollection  of  theu' 
frierid,  and  loved  her  dearly.  But  she  found  it  quite  impossi- 
ble to  recall  the  short  active  figui'e,  the  rath(;r  scant  dress, 
the  never-tiling  hands,  without  a  fear  that  the  visit  might  b(5 
a  little  disappointing — not  to  themselves.     Janet  would  al- 


'  *l 


348 


JAJ^ETS   LOVE   AND   BEIi\  ICE. 


$ 


V  f'  -J 


wajH  1)0  Janot  to  thorn — tlic  dear  fi-iond  of  their  childhood, 
with  ni'jro  real  worth  in  horlittlo  ini<j^or  than  there  was  in  ion 
such  fine  ladies  as  Mrs.  (novo.  But  ]loso  f^iew  in(h<^iant 
beforehand,,  as  sho  iinagin>'!d  the  snpercilions  smiles  and 
forced  politeness  of  that  lady,  and  pca-haps  of  Fanny  too, 
when  all  this  worth  should  appear  in  the  form  of  a  little,  plain 
old  woman,  Avith  no  claim  to  consideration  on  account  of 
extcniak. 

But  that  was  all  jiast  now.  And  seeing  her  sitting  there  iu 
her  full  brown  travelling  dress,  her  snowy  neckerchief  and 
pretty  quaint  cap,  looking  as  if  her  life  might  have  been 
passed  with  folded  hands  ir  a  velvet  arm-chair,  Rose 's  mis- 
givings gave  place  to  triumphant  self-congratnlrtion,  which 
was  rather  uucomfoi-table,  because  it  could  not  well  be  shai'od. 
She  had  assisted  at  the  arrangement  of  the  consents  of  the 
travelling  trunk  in  ^vardvobe  and  bm'oau,  and  this  might  <;tve 
helped  her  a  little. 

"  A  soft  black  silk,  and  a  grey  poplin,  and  such  lovely  neck- 
erchiefs and  handkerchiefs  of  lawn — is  not  little  Emily  a  dar- 
ling to  make  her  motiier  look  so  nice '?  And  such  a  beauty 
of  a  shawl ! — that 's  the  one  Sandy  brought." 

And  so  Rose  came  down-stairs  triumphant,  Anthout  a  single 
di'awbaok  to  mar  the  pleasiu'e  with  which  she  regarded  Janet 
as  she  sat  in  the  arm-chair,  letting  her  gi*avc  admiring  glances 
fall  alternately  on  Griicme  and  the  pretty  creature  at  her  feet. 
All  Rosie's  admii'ation  was  for  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  Is  she  not  just  like  a  picture  sitting  there  ?"  sho  whis- 
pered to  Will,  as  sho  passed  him. 

And  indeed  Rcsie's  admiration  was  not  smpiising ;  sho 
was  the  very  Janet  of  old  times  ;  but  she  sat  there  in  Fanny's 
handsome  drawing-room,  Mith  as  much  appropriate  ness  as 
she  had  ever  sat  in  the  manse  kitchen  long  ago,  and  looked 
over  the  vases  and  elegant  trifles  on  the  contrc-table  to 
Graeme  with  as  much  ease  and  self-possession  as  if  sho  had 
been  "  used  with"  fine  things  all  her  life,  and  had  never  held 
anxious  counsels  with  her  over  jackets  and  trowsers,  and  Uttle 
half-worn  stockings  and  shoes. 


.    \\l 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


340 


And  3'ot  thern  was  no  real  cause  for  suii^i'iso.  For  Janet 
was  ono  of  tlioso  whose  modest,  yet  firm  self-respect,  join(;d 
with  a  just  appreciation  of  Jill  worhlly  thin^^s,  loaves  to 
dian<>ing  cintmnstanees  no  power  over  their  unchanf^ing 
worth. 

That  ]M'r.  Siiow  should  spontl  tho  tinii)  devoted  to  their 
visit  within  four  walls,  was  not  to  bo  thou^;ht  of.  The  deacon, 
who,  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew  him  best,  "  had  the 
faculty  of  doing  'most  an-^-thing,"  had  certainly  not  the  faculty 
of  sittnig  still  in  a  ohaii'  hke  other  people.  The  hall  or  the 
gallery  was  his  usual  place  of  promenade,  but  when  the  in- 
terest of  the  conversation  kept  him  with  the  rest,  Fanny  suf- 
fered constant  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  ottomans,  vases  and 
little  tables.  A  judicious  re-arrangement  of  these  soon  gave 
him  a  clearer  space  for  iiis  perambulations  ;  but  a  man  a  t- 
custoined  to  walk  miles  daily  on  his  own  land,  could  not  be 
expected  to  content  himself  long  within  such  narrow  limits. 
So  one  Ijrii^ht  morning  he  renewed  the  proposal,  made  long 
before,  that  Will,  should  show  him  Canada. 

Up  to  a  comparatively  recent  period,  all  ^Ir.  Snow's  iih^as 
of  tho  coiuitiy  had  been  got  from  the  careful  reading  of  an 
old  "  History  of  the  French  and  Indian  War."  Of  cou\"so,  by 
this  time  he  had  got  a  little  beyond  the  behef  that  the  <i;ov- 
ernment  was  a  military  despotism,  that  the  city  of  Montreal 
was  a  cluster  of  wigwams,  huddled  together  within  a  circular 
enclosure  of  palisades,  or  that  tho  commerce  of  the  couniry 
consisted  in  an  exchange  of  beads,  muskets,  and  bad  whisk(;y 
for  the  furs  of  the  Aborigines.  Still  his  ideas  were  \aguo 
and  indistuict,  not  to  say  disjiaraging,  and  he  had  already 
quite  u! icons 'iously  excited  the  amusement  of  Will,  and  the 
indignation  of  Kosc,  by  indulging  in  remarks  indicative  of  a 
low  opinion  of  things  in  g(Micral  in  the  (Queen's  dominions. 
So  when  he  proi)()sed  that  Will,  should  show  him  Canaila, 
Kose  l(3okt;d  gravely  up  and  asked, 

"  Where  will  you  go  first,  M'ill.  V — to  the  Red  river  or  Hud- 
son's Bay  or  to  Nova  Scotia  ?    You  must  be  l)ack  to  lunch." 

They  all  laughed,  and  Arthur  said, 


i 


' 


350 


JANET  S   LOVE   AM)   HERVICE. 


"  Oh,  fio,  Rosii; !  not  to  know  these  pLiccs  arc  nil  beyond 
the  lunits  of  Canada! — such  ij^orr.nee  !" 

"  They  arc  m  the  (Queen's  dominions,  though,  and  jMi\  Snow 
■wants  to  see  all  that  is  W(n'th  seeing  on  British  soil." 

"  Well,  I  giicss  ^^■c  can  make  out  a  full  day's  work  in  Can- 
ada, can't  wc ?  It 's  best  to  take  it  moderate,"  said  Mr.  Snow, 
smiling  benignly  on  Rose.  He  was  tolerant  of  the  young 
lady's  petulance,  and  not  so  ready  to  excite  it  as  he  used  to 
be  in  the  old  times,  and  generally  listened  to  her  little  sallies 
with  a  deprecating  smile,  amu.sing  to  sec. 

Ho  was  changed  hi  other  rcsiiccts  as  well.  Indeed,  it  must 
be  confessed  tliat  just  at  (irst  Arthm*  was  a  little  disappo'iited 
in  him.  He  had  only  a  slight  personal  acq"  lintancc  with 
bun,  but  he  had  heard  so  nuich  of  him  from  the  others  that 
he  had  looked  forward  with  interest  to  making  the  accpiaint- 
ancG  of  the  "shaip  Yankee  deacon."  For  Harry  had  a  good 
story  about  "  Uncle  Sarnpsou"  ready  for  all  occasions,  and 
there  ^^■as  no  end  to  the  shi'cwd  remarks  and  scraps  of  worldly 
■wisdom  that  ho  used  to  quote  from  his  lips.  But  Hany's 
acquaintance  had  been  confined  to  the  first  years  of  their 
Merlcviilo  life,  and  Mr,  Snow  L'ad  changcsd  much  since  then. 
He  saw  all  things  in  a  lu^w  light.  AVisdom  and  folly  had 
changed  their  aspect  to  him.  The  charity  which  "  bclieveth 
and  hopcth  all  things,"  and  which  "  tliiiiketh  no  evil,"  lived 
within  him  now,  and  made  him  slow  to  sec,  and  slower  still 
to  comment  upon  the  faults  and  foibles  of  others  with  the 
sharpness  that  ustnl  to  excite  the  nihth  of  the  lads  long  ago. 
Not  that  lie  had  forgotten  how  to  criticise,  and  that  soveri-ly 
too,  whatever  ho  thought  deserscd  it,  or  would  be  Ihe  better 
for  it,  as  WiU.  had  good  reason  to  know  before  lie  had  done 
much  in  the  way  of  "showing  him  Canada,"  but  .'  e  far  nioro 
fre(]uently  sur[)rised  them  all  by  his  gentle  tolcranci;  towards 
what  might  bi",  displcashig  to  him,  and  by  his  (iuick  appreci- 
ation of  vvhatever  was  admirable  in  all  lie  f^aw. 

The  lirst  few  days  of  siglitw'ein;(  wwc  passisl  in  th(^  cily 
and  its  environs.  With  th<j  towu  itself  he  was  greatly  plwisod. 
The  great  grey  stone  structures  suited  him  well,  suggesting, 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


351 


as  they  often  do  to  the  people  {icciistomccl  to  bouses  of  brick 
or  wood,  ideas  of  strcnf^th  and  permanence.  But  as  he  was 
usually  content  with  an  outside  view  of  the  buildhiss,  with 
such  a  view  as  could  be  obtained  by  a  slow  drive  throu<:^h  the 
streets,  the  town  itself  did  not  occupy  him  long.  Then  came 
the  wharves  and  sliipg  ;  then  tliey  visited  the  manufactories 
and  workshops,  lately  become  so  munerous  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  canal.  All  these  pleased  and  interested  him 
gi'eatly,  but  he  never  failed,  when  oppoi-tmiity  offered,  to  point 
out  various  particulars,  in  wliicih  he  considered  the  Montreal- 
ers  "a  Jedlc  behind  the  times."  On  the  whole,  however,  his 
aj'prcciation  of  British  energy  and  onteiin-ise  was  admiring 
and  sinco-c,  and  as  warmly  expressed  as  could  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances. 

"You've  got  a  river,  at  any  rate,  that  al)out  comes  \\\)  to 
one's  ideas  of  what  a  river  ought  to  be — broad  and  deep  and 
full,"  he  said  to  Arthur  one  dav.  "  It  Icind  of  satislies  one 
to  stand  and  look  at  it,  so  gi'and  and  powerful,  and  still  al- 
ways rolling  on  to  the  sea." 

"  Yes,  it  is  like  your  7-'"'ather  of  Waters,"  said  ^\i'thur,  a  little 
surprised  at  his  tone  and  manner. 

"One  wouldn't  be  apt  to  thuik  of  mills  and  engines  and 
such  things  at  the  first  glimpse  of  that.  I  didn't  see  it  the 
day  when  I  crossed  it,  for  the  mist  and  rain.  To-day,  as  wo 
stood  looking  down  upon  it,  I  C()ul(hi't  but  think  how  it  had 
been  rolhng  on  and  on  there,  ever  since  creation,  I  suppose, 
or  ever  since  the  time  of  Adam  and  Eve — if  the  date  ain't  the 
same  as  some  folks  seem  to  think." 

"  I  always  think  how  wonderful  it  nmst  have  scorned  to 
JaccpK^s  C'artier  and  his  men,  as  tliey  sailed  on  and  on,  with 
the  never  ending  ft)re.st  on  either  shore,"  said  Koso.  "No 
wonder  tluy  thought  it  would  never  end,  till  it  bore  them  to 
the  China  seas." 

"A  wonderful  highwMy  of  nations'  it  i.s,  thou;:^1i  it  disap- 
pointed them  in  that,"  said  Arthur.  "The  sa<l  jiity  is,  that 
it  is  n(it  available  for  commerce  fo/  more  than  two-tliinls  of 
the  year." 


r.l 


WW  Will  I 


352 


.lANJOTH    LOVr:    AN»   SKIJVICE. 


"  If  cwv  iho  l)ii(l;j^(^  tliry  tiilk  about  should  bo  built,  it  will 
ilo  soiiit'diini;"  iowMnlw  miikiiiji^  this  a  pliicc  of  iiiiporhuico 
iu  this  pjirt  of  iho  worhl,  ihouf^h  the  long  winter  is  ajj^aiiist, 
too." 

"Oh!  the  bridjjfo  will  bo  built,  I  suppose,  and  the  bcnciit 
will  not  bo  eonlined  to  us.  The  Western  trade  will  bebene- 
lited  as  well.  AVliat  do  you  ihiuk  of  your  IMassachusetts 
inc^u,  <^('tii)i;j;  their  eotton  round  this  way?  This  eonununi- 
caliou  with  tlu^  more  northern  eotton  gi'o\vin<jf  States  is  moro 
direct  by  this  than  any  other  way." 

*'  Well,  I  ain't  prepared  to  say  nuieli  about  it.  Sonio  folks 
wouldn't  think  nnidi  of  that.  But  I  suppose  you  are  bound 
to  go  ahead,  anyhow." 

But  to  the  experi(>nced  eye  of  the  fanner,  nothing  gave  so 
much  pleasure  as  the  cultivated  country  lying  around  the 
city,  and  beyond  the  mountain,  as  far  as  the  cyo  could 
reach.  Of  the  mountain  itself,  ho  was  a  httlo  contemptuous 
iu  its  character  of  mountain. 

"A  numntain  with  smooth  tields,  and  even  orchards,  reach- 
ed iilmost  to  tho  top  of  it!  AVhy,  om*  sheep  pasture  at 
I\l(^rleville,  is  a  deal  iuore  lilce  a  momitain  than  that.  It  is 
only  a  hill,  and  moderate  at  that.  You  nuist  liiivo  boon 
dreadful  hard  up  for  mountains,  to  call  that  one.  You  'vo 
forgotten  all  about  IMerloville,  Ilosie,  to  bo  content  with  that 
for  a  mountain." 

"NMiilcx  ho  admu'ed  tho  farms,  ho  did  not  hesitate  to  com- 
ment severely  on  the  want  of  enterprise  shown  by  tho  farmers, 
who  seemed  to  bo  content  "  to  putter  along"  as  their  fathers 
liad  done,  with  little  desire  to  avail  themselves  of  tho  many 
inventions  and  discoveries  which  modern  science  and  art  had 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  farmer.  In  Morleville,  cvoiy 
man  wlio  owned  ten,  or  even  tivo  acres  of  level  land,  iiad 
an  interest  in  sowing  and  mowing  machmos,  to  say  nothing 
of  other  improvements,  that  could  bo  made  available  on  hill 
or  meadow.  If  tho  strength  and  patience  so  fi'ecly  expended 
among  the  stony  New  England  liills,  could  but  bo  aiiplied  to 
the  fertile  valley  of  tlio  St.  Lawrence,  what  a  garden  it  might 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   HEmiCE. 


.1  -  .> 


bccoiiu) !  And  tlu!  Yfiiilcco  firmer  f,Tow  a  little  coiitcnipl  ii.  .uh 
of  \hv.  (•<)ii(ciit"(l  iicijuitscciico  of  Ciliiii(liiiiis  to  tlic  order  uf 
uffiirs  e.stiil)lis]i(!(l  by  their  fitliors. 

One  id'unioou  hv,  uiul  Will,  went  t.)^r(.t,li(  r  to  tlu;  to[)  of 
the  liiountaiii  towurd  the  W(!stern  eiu'.  'J'hey  hud  a  fair  day 
for  a  fair  f-i^ht,  and  when  Mv.  Snow  looked  down  on  the 
scene,  bounded  by  tlie  blue  hills  bc^yond  both  rivers,  all  other 
thoughts  f^ave  ])la(;o  to  foelinf]fs  of  wondeiin^  admiration. 
Above  was  a  slc}',  whose  t(>nder  b!tie  was  made  nioro  lovely 
by  the  snowy  el(juds  that  saile<l  now  nnd  then  Tnaje^!tically 
across  it,  to  break  into  tlakes  of  silver  near  tlu;  far  horizon. 

Beneath  lay  the  valley,  clothed  in  the  nmuberless  shades  of 
venluro  with  which  June  loves  to  deck  the  earth  in  this 
iiortho'ii  climate.  There  were  no  waste  plac^es,  no  wilder- 
ness, no  arid  stretch(!S  of  sand  or  stone.  Far  as  the  eyo 
could  rciaeh,  cxt(,'nd(!d  llelds,  and  j^roves,  and  ^ard(!iis,  scatter- 
ed throH;';h  with  (tlnsters  of  cotta;^es,  or  solitai'y  farm  houses. 

Up  throuj^h  the  stilhujss  of  the  sunnuer  air,  eanic  steahn<^ 
the  faint  sound  of  a  distant  bell,  seeming  to  de{;i)en  the  sih.nco 
round  them. 

"  I  suppose,  the  land  that  Moses  saw  from  l*is;^'ah,  must 
have  been  like  this,"  said  ^tr.  Snow,  as  lie  ff-.i./id. 

"Yes,  the  Promised  Land  was  a  land  of  hills,  and  valleys, 
and  brooks  of  water,"  said  Will.,  softly,  never  movinj,'  his 
eyes  from  the  wonderful  picture.  Could  they  ever  f^azo 
cnou;^h  ?  Could  they  ever  weary  themselves  of  the  si^dit  i 
The  shadows  grow  long;  tho  cloudfi,  that  had  made  the 
beauty  of  the  sunnncr  sky,  followed  each  other  toward  tho 
west,  and  rosj  in  pimiaeles  of  gold,  and  amber,  and  ame'thyst ; 
and  then  they  rose  to  go. 

"I  wouldn't  have  missed  that  now,  for  considerable,"  said 
Mr.  Snow,  coming  back  witli  an  effort  to  tlu;  n.-alization  of 
the  fact  that  this  was  part  of  the  sight-seeing  that  he  had  s(,t 
himself.  "  No,  I  would  n't  have  missed  it  f  jr  c  )nsiderablo  iiiore 
th  in  that  miserable  team  '11  cost,"a<ld(;dhe,  as  he  canu;  hi  sight 
of  tho  carriage,  on  whoso  uncomfortable  s(;at  the  drowsy 
driver  had  boon  slumljcriiig  all  the  afternoon.     Will,  suiiled, 


35J: 


JANKt'.S    LOVi:    AND   SEHVICK. 


and  lu.'ido  no  answer.  Ho  was  not  a  vain  lad,  but  it  is  just 
possible  that  tli  !rc  passed  tlin)n<f]i  iiis  uiiiid  a  doubt  whether 
the  ( ujoyuieut  of  Jus  IVieud  had  b<;eu  as  real,  as  hi<^h,  or  as 
iuieuse,  as  Jiis  had  been  all  the  afleriioon.  To  Will's  imafj- 
ination,  the  valley  lay  in  the  gloom  of  its  primeval  forests, 
peopled  by  heroes  of  a  race  now  passed  away.  He  was  one 
of  them.  He  foujj^ht  in  their  battles,  tiiiunphed  in  their 
vietorics,  jiantcd  in  the  eagerness  of  (ho  chase.  In  imagina- 
tion, he  saw  the  forest  fall  under  the  peaceful  weapons  of  the 
pale  face  ;  then  wandered  westward  to  die  the  dreary  death 
of  the  last  of  a  stricken  race.  Then  his  thoughts  canio  down 
to  the  present,  and  on  into  the  futiu'c,  in  a  vagiie  dream, 
whi(4i  was  half  a  ju-aj-er,  for  the  hastening  of  the  time  when 
the  lovely  valley  should  smile  in  moral  and  spiritual  Ijoauty 
too.  And  coming  back  fo  actual  life  with  an  (^llbrt — a  sense 
of  pain,  he  said  to  himself,  that  the  enjoyment  of  his  friend 
had  hcc.n  not  so  high  and  pure  as  his. 

But  "Will,  was  mistaken.  In  the  thoughts  of  his  friend, 
that  sununer  afternoon,  patent  machines,  remunerative  labor, 
plans  of  supply  and  demand,  of  lu'olit  and  loss,  found  no 
place.  He  passed  the  pleasant  hour  on  that  green  hill-side, 
seeing  in  that  iovely  vallty,  stretched  out  before*  them,  a  very 
Land  of  Ccuhdi.  Looking  over  the  blue  line  of  the  Ottawa, 
as  over  the  river  of  Death,  into  a  huid  visible  and  clear  to 
the  eye  of  faith,  ho  saw  sights,  and  heai'd  sounds,  and  enjoy- 
ed comnumion,  which,  as  yet,  lay  far  in  the  future,  as  to  the 
experience  of  the  lad  by  his  side  ;  and  coming  back  to  actual 
life,  gave  no  sign  of  the  Divine  Companionshij),  save  that  which 
afterward  was  to  Ijc  seen  in  a  life  growing  liker  every  day  to 
tlic  Divine  Exemplar. 

Will,  thought,  as  they  went  homo  together,  that  a  now 
light  beamed,  now  and  then,  over  the  keen  but  kindly  face, 
mid  that  the  grave  eyes  of  his  friend  had  the  look  of  one 
who  saw  something  beyond  the  beauty  of  the  pleasant  fields, 
growing  dim  now  in  the  gathering  darkness  ;  and  the  lad's 
heart  grew  full  and  tender  as  it  dawned  upon  him,  how  this 
was  a  token  of  the  sliining  of  God's  face  ui3on  his  servant, 


.lANKTb    r-OVK    AND   8ERVICK. 


355 


and  he  longed  for  a  f^limpso  of  that  Avliich  his  fiiond's  oycs 
saw.  A  'svord  niiglif.  iiavo  won  l'<»r  liiiu  u  j^linip.s(!  of  the 
happiness  ;  but  AV'ill.  was  shy,  and  the  word  was  not  sj)okcii ; 
and,  all  uncouscions  of  his  lonj^an*.^,  liis  friend  sat  with  the 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  the  light  in  his  eye,  no  tlionght  fui-ther 
from  him  than  that  any  experience  of  his  should  l)e  of  value 
to  another.  And  so  they  fell  quite  into  silence,  till  they 
ncared  the  streets  where  the  hghtcd  lamps  were  burning  dim 
in  the  fadhig  daylight. 

That  n'ght,  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings  up  and  down, 
Mr.  Snow  paused,  as  ho  often  did,  before  a  portrait  of  the 
minister.  It  was  a  portrait  taken  when  the  minister  had 
been  a  much  younger  man  than  INIr.  Snow  had  ever  known 
him.  It  had  belonged  to  a  friend  in  Scotland,  and  had  been 
sent  to  Arthur,  at  his  death,  about  a  year  ago.  Thelikenc  ss 
had  been  strildng,  and  to  Janet,  the  sight  of  it  liad  hcvn  a 
great  pleasure  and  sur])rise.  She  was  never  weary  of  look- 
ing at  it,  and  even  ]Mr.  Snow,  who  had  never  known  the 
minister  but  as  a  grey-haired  man,  was  strangely  fas;-inated 
by  the  beauty  of  the  grave  sinilo  tliat  ho  remembered  so 
well  on  his  face.  Tliat  night  he  stood  leaning  on  the  l)aek 
of  a  chair,  and  gazing  i>t  it,  wliile  the  conversation  llowcdon 
as  usual  around  him.  Li  a  iitih>,  Hose  came  and  stood 
beside  him. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  very  like  him  ? "  askcid  she. 

"Well,"  said  i\Ir.  Snow,  meditatively,  "it's like  him  and 
it  ain't  like  him.     I  lovo  to  look  at  it,  anyhow." 

"  At  first  it  puzzled  me,"  said  Kose.  "  It  seemed  like  the 
picture  of  some  one  I  had  scon  in  a  di'eani  ;  and  wlien  I  shut 
my  eyes,  and  tried  to  bring  back  my  father's  face  as  it  used 
to  bo  in  Mcrleville,  it  would  not  come — the  face  of  the  dream 
came  Ijetweon." 

"Well,  there  is  something  in  that,"  said  ^Ir.  Snow,  and  ho 
paused  a  moment,  and  shut  his  eyes,  as  if  to  call  back  tlio 
fac{5  of  his  friend.  "  No,  it  won't  do  that  for  mo.  It•^vould 
take  something  I  hain't  thought  of  yet,  to  make  me  forget 
his  face." 


•  i 


i1 


)       I 


356 


JANET  8    LOVK   AND   BEHYICE. 


c 


" It  does  not  trouble  me  now,"  said  Rose.  "I  can  shut 
my  eyes,  and  sec  him,  O !  so  plainly,  in  the  cbnrch,  and  at 
home  in  the  study,  and  out  under  the  trees,  and  as  he  lay — 
in  his  coffin — "  She  was  smiling  still,  but  the  tears  were 
ready  to  gush  over  her  eyes.  Mr.  Snow  tm-nod,  and  laying 
his  hand  on  her  bright  head,  said  softly, 

"  Yes,  dear,  and  so  can  I.  If  wo  did  n't  know  that  it  must 
be  right,  we  might  wonder  why  he  was  taken  from  us.  But 
I  shall  never  forget  him — never.  He  did  too  much  for  me, 
for  that.  He  was  the  best  fidend  I  ever  had,  by  all  odds — the 
veiy  best." 

Rose  smiled  through  her  tears. 

"  He  brought  you  IMi's.  Snow,"  said  she,  softly. 

"  Yes,  dear.  That  was  much,  but  he  did  more  than  that. 
It  was  thi'ough  him  tliat  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  better 
and  dcai'cr  friend  than  even  s]ie  is — and  that  is  saving  con- 
siderable," added  he,  tm'ning  liis  eyes  towai'd  the  tranquil 
figiu'C  knitting  in  the  aim-chau'. 

"  Were  you  speaking  ?"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  looking  up  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  was  speaking  to  Rosie,  here.  How  do  you  sup- 
pose we  can  ever  persuade  her  to  go  back  to  Merleville  with 
us?" 

"  She  is  going  with  us,  or  she  will  soon  follow  us.  "What 
would  Emily  say,  if  she  didna  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know.    But  I  meant,  to  stay  for  good  and  all. 

Graeme,  won't  you  give  us  this  little  gu'l  ?  " 

Graeme  smiled. 

"  Yes.     On  one  condition — if  you  will  take  me  too." 

]\Ir.  Snow  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  would  biing  us  no  nearer  the  end.  We 
should  have  other  conditions  to  add  to  that  one." 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  laughing.  "  You  would  have  to  take 
Fanny  and  me,  as  well,  in  that  case.  I  don't  object  to  your 
havmg  one  of  them  at  a  time,  now  and  then,  but  both  of 
them — that  would  never  do." 

"  But  it  must  be  both  or  neither,"  said  Graeme,  eagerly, 


JAN1:T  8    LOVK    AND   6ERVICK. 


357 


"  I  couldna  trust  liosio  away  from  inc.  I  liavcna  these  Kixteon 
years — her  whole  hi'e,  have  I,  Janet  V  If  you  want  llusie,  you 
must  have  nie,  too." 

She  spoke  hyhtly,  but  eanicstly  ;  she  meant  what  she  said. 
Indeed,  so  earnest  was  she,  that  she  quite  Hushed  up,  and  tho 
tears  were  not  far  away.  The  others  saw  it,  and  were  silent, 
but  Fanny  who  Avas  not  quick  at  seeing  things,  said, 

"  But  what  could  wo  do  without  you  both  ?  That  would 
not  be  fair — " 

"  Oh  !  vou  would  have  Arthur,  and  Arthur  would  have  vou. 
At  any  rate,  llosic  is  mine,  and  I  am  not  going  to  give  her  to 
any  one  who  won't  have  mo,  too.  8ho  is  aU  I  shall  have  left 
when  Will,  goes  away." 

"  Graeme  would  not  trust  Rosio  with  Arthur  and  me,"  said 
Fanny,  a  little  pettishly.  "There  arc  so  many  tilings  that 
Graeme  don't  approve  of.     She  thinks  we  would  spoil  Rose." 

Janet's  hand  touched  hers,  whetluu-  by  accident  or  design 
Graeme  did  not  know,  but  it  had  the  effect  of  checking  tho 
response  that  rose  to  her  lips,  and  she  only  said,  laughingly, 

"  Mrs.  Snow  thinks  that  you  and  Ai'thui*  are  spoiling  us 
both,  Fanny." 

Janet  smiled  fondly  and  gravely  at  the  sisters,  as  she  said, 
stroking  Graeme's  bowed  head, 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  no'  past  spoiling,  either  of  you,  but  I 
have  seen  worse  baii*ns." 

After  this,  ]Mr.  Snow  and  Will,  began  the  suiwey  of  Canada 
in  earnest.  First  they  went  to  Quebec,  where  they  lingered 
several  days.  Then  they  went  farther  down  the  river,  and  up 
the  Sagiienay,  into  the  very  heart  of  the  wilderness.  This 
part  of  the  trip  Will,  enjoyed  more  than  his  fi-icnd,  but  ]Mr. 
Snow  showed  no  sign  of  impatience,  and  prolonged  their  stay 
for  his  sake.  Then  they  went  up  the  country,  visiting  tho 
chief  towns  and  places  of  interest.  They  did  not  ctmfine 
themselves,  however,  to  the  usual  route  of  travtjlers,  but 
wont  here  and  there  iiiw:igi)iis  and  stiiges,  through  a  faiiulng 
country,  in  which,  though  ]Mr.  Snow  saw  much  to  critici-;e,  he 
saw  more  to  admire.     Tliey  shared  the  hospitality  of  many  u 


^*1 


358 


JANKT  8  I.OVE   AND  SERVICE. 


Hit'? 


quiet  farniliousc,  hh  freely  as  it  was  oflercd,  and  enjoyed  many 
a  pleasant  conversation  with  the  farmers  and  iheii'  families, 
seated  on  doors-steps,  or  l)y  the  kitchen  tiro. 

Tliough  the  hospitality  of  <ho  country  people  was,  as  a 
f^eneral  thinjj,  fully  and  fi'eely  offered,  it  was  sometinics,  it 
must  be  confessed,  not  without  a  certain  reserve.     That  a 
"  live  Yankee,"  cute,  and  able-bodied^  should  be  going  about 
in  these  out-of-the-way  i")ai*ts,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  satisfying 
himself  as  to  the  features,  resources,  and  inhabitants  of  the 
country,  was  a  circumstance  so  rare,  so  unheard  of,  indeed, 
in  these  parts,  that  the  slirewd  country  people  did  not  Uke 
to  commit  themselves  at  the  first  glance.    Will.'s  frank,  hand- 
some face,  and  simple,   kindly  manners,  won  hun  speedily 
enough  the  confidcuco  of  all,  and  ]\Ii'.  Snow's  kintUy  advances 
were  seldom  long  v,ithstood.     But  there  sometimes  lingered 
an  mieasy  feeling,  not  to  say  suspicion,  that  when  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  their  confidence,  he  would  tuni  round  and 
make  some  startling  demand  on  their  faith  or  theu*  purses  m 
i)chalf  of  some  patent  medicine  or  new  invention — pcrluips 
one  of  those  wonderful  labor-saving  machines,  of  v.'hich  ho 
had  so  much  to  say.     As  for  himself,  if  he  ever  observed  their 
rcsen'e  or  its  cause,  he  never  rescnited  it,  or  commented  upon 
it,  but  entered  at  oneo  into  tlie  discussion  of  all  possible  sub- 
jects with  the  zest  of  a  man  determined  to  make  the  most  of 
the  pleasant  cu'cumstances  in  which  he  found  himself.     If  ho 
did  not  always  agi'ce  with  the  opinions  expressed,  or  approve 
of  the  modes  of  faninng  pui'sued,  he  at  least  found  that  the 
sturdy  farmers  of  Glengany  and  the  country  beyond  had 
Viiore  to  say  for  their  opinions  and  practice  than  "  so  had 
their  fathers  said  and  done  before  them,"  and  their  discus- 
sions ended,  quite  as  frequently  as  otherwise,  in  the  American 
frankly  coirfessing  himself  convinced  that  aU  the  agricultm*al 
wisdom  on  the  continent  did  not  lie  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Mne  forty-live. 

^yill.  Avas  greatly  anuisod  and  interested  by  all  this.  He 
was,  to  a  certain  extent,  able  to  look  at  the  ideas,  opinions, 
and  prejudices  of  each  fi*om  the  other's  point  of  view,  and  so 


ja\i:t  .s  Lovi;  and  skuvick. 


350 


to  enjoy  with  double  zest  the  cliHcussion  of  f^ulijocts  ^vliich 
could  not  fail  to  present  Huch  tlissimilar  aspects  to  minds  no 
dilTerently  cunstitutod,  and  developed  uikKu*  circuinstaucos 
and  induencos  so  diHrrcnt.  This  power  helped  him  to  uiuko 
the  opinions  of  (.'aeh  more  cleai"  to  the  other,  presentin,^'  to 
both  juster  notions  of  each  (other's  theory  and  practice  thuu 
their  own  explanations  could  have  done.  By  this  means,  tot), 
he  won  for  himself  a  reputation  for  wisdom,  about  matti  rs 
and  things  in  general,  whieh  suqaisodno  one  sonmch  as  him- 
self. They  would  have'hkedto  linger  far  longer,  over  this 
part  of  their  trip,  than  they  had  time  to  do,  for  the  days  were 
hastening. 

Before  retuvning  homo,  they  visited  Niagara,  that  wondeiiul 
work  of  God,  too  great  and  grand,  as  Mr.  Snow^  told  Rosie, 
to  be  the  pride  of  one  nation  exclusively,  and  so  it  had  been 
placed  on  the  borders  of  the  two  greatest  nations  in  the 
world.  This  part  of  the  trio  was  f(jr  A\ill.'s  sake.  ]\lr.  Snt)W 
had  visited  them  on  his  way  West  many  years  ago.  Indeed, 
there  were  other  parts  of  the  trip  made  for  AVill.'s  benefit, 
but  those  were  not  the  parts  which  Mr.  Snow  enjoyed  least, 
as  ho  said  to  his  wife  afterwards. 

"  It  paid  well.  I  had  my  o\\ii  share  of  the  pleasiu'c,  and 
Will.'s,  too.  If  ever  a  lad  enjoyed  a  hoHday  ho  enjoyed  his. 
It  was  worth  going,  just  to  see  his  pleasure." 

When  the  time  alk^ttcd  to  theu*  visit  was  di'awing  to  a  dose, 
it  was  proposed  that  a  ftnv  days  should  be  passed  in  that  most 
beautiful  part  of  Canada,  known  as  the  Eastern  Townships. 
Arthur  went  with  them  there.  It  was  but  a  glimpse  they 
could  give  it.  Passing  in  through  Missisquoi  County  to  the 
head  of  the  lovely  lake  Mempliremagog,  they  spent  a  few  days 
on  it,  and  along  its  shores.  Their  retmri  was  by  a  circuitous 
course  across  the  country  tlii'<nigh  the  Comity  of  Stanst'-ad,  in 
the  midst  of  beautiful  scenen',  and  what  Mr.  Snow  de.'lared  to 
be  "  as  tine  a  farming  countrvas  anvbodv  need  wisli  to  see." 

This  "scehig  Canada"  v/as  a  more  s('rlous  mati;'r  than  lie 
hadatlirst  suppos:Hl,  Mv.  Snow  acknov.lc  Iged  to  the  delighted 
Rose.     It  could  not  be  done  juotico  to  in  a  low  days,  ho  uaid; 


30.0 


JANKT's    I-OVi:    AND   SERVICE. 


HI' 


but  lie  Nvould  try  and  reconcile  lii'insolf  to  tlio  linstincss  of  his 
trip,  by  tukiii;f  it  for  granted  that  the  parts  ho  had  not  scon 
^vere  pretty  nnicli  like  those  ho  had  gone  through,  and  a  very 
line  country  it  was. 

"  Canada  will  bo  heard  from  yet,  I  expect,"  said  he,  one 
night  when  they  liad  returned  home.  "By  the  time  that  you 
get  sonic  things  done  that  you  moan  to  now,  you  '11  bo  ready 
to  go  ahead.  I  don't  soo  but  you  have  as  good  a  chance  as 
ever  we  had — better,  even.  You  have  got  the  same  elements 
of  prosperity  and  success.  You  hav(f  got  the  Bible  and  a  frco 
press,  and  a  fair  proportion  of  good  soil,  and  any  amount  of 
water-power.  Then  for  inhal )itants,  you've  got  the  Scotchman, 
cautious  and  far-seeing  ;  the  Irishman,  a  little  hot  and  heady, 
perhaps,  but  earnest ;  you've  got  the  Englishman,  who  '11 
never  fail  of  liis  aim  for  want  of  self-confidence,  anyhow; 
you've  got  Frenchmen,  Germans,  and  a  sprinkling  of  the 
dark  element  out  west ;  and  you've  got  what  wo  didn't  have 
to  begin  with,  you've  got  the  Yankee  clement,  and  that  is 
considerable  more  than  you  seem  to  think  it  is,  Rosie." 

Rose  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  She  was  aot  going  to 
allow  herself  to  bo  di*awn  into  a  discussion  of  nationalities 
that  night. 

"  Yes,"  contumed  he,  "  the  real  live  Yankee  is  about  as 
complete  a  man  as  j'ou  '11  generally  meet  anywhere.  He  has 
the  caution  of  Hhc  Scot,  to  temper  the  fire  of  the  Iiishmau, 
and  he  has  about  as  good  an  opinion  of  himself  as  the  Enghsh- 
man  has.  He  '11  keep  things  going  among  you.  He  '11  biing 
you  up  to  the  times,  and  then  ho  won't  be  likely  to  let  you 
fall  back  again.  Yes;  if  ever  Canada  is  heai'd  fi'om,  the 
Yankee  will  have  something  to  do  with  it,  and  no  mistake." 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


IN  the  moan  time  very  quiet  and  pleasant  clays  were  i)iis9- 
infj  over  those  who  were  at  home.  Fanny  jingled  her 
ki'ys,  and  triumphed  a  little  at  the  continued  success  of  affairs 
in  Mrs.  Tilman's  department.  Graeme  took  no  notice  o^her 
ti'iumph,  but  worked  away  at  odds  and  ends,  remcmbenug 
things  forgotten,  smoothing  difficulties,  remonng  obstacles, 
and  maldng,  more  than  she  or  any  one  knew,  the  happiness 
of  them  all.  JXosq  sung  and  danced  about  the  house  as  iLsu;d, 
and  devoted  some  of  her  superfluous  energy  to  the  embellish- 
ment of  a  cobweb  fabiic,  which  was,  under  her  skillful  fingers, 
destined  to  assume,  by  and  l)y,  the  form  of  a  wedding  pockefc- 
handkerchief  for  Emily.  And  through  all,  Mrs.  Snow  was 
calmly  and  silently  pursuing  the  object  of  her  visit  to  Canad.r. 
Tlu'ough  the  pleasant  hoiu's  of  work  and  leisure,  in  all  their 
talk  of  old  times,  and  of  the  present  time,  in  all  moods,  giMvo 
and  gay,  she  had  but  one  thought,  one  desire,  to  assure  h  r- 
self  by  some  unfailing  token  that  her  bairns  were  as  good 
and  hai)py  as  they  ought  to  be. 

The  years  that  had  passed  since  the  bairns  had  been  pai  Led 
fi'om  her  had  made  Janet  older  than  they  ought  to  have 
done,  Graeme  thought.  It  was  because  she  was  not  so  strong 
as  she  used  to  be,  slie  said  herself ;  but  it  was  more  than 
sickness,  and  more  than  the  passing  years  that  had  changed 
her.  The  ch'oadful  sliock  and  disappointment  of  her  mother's 
deati),  followed  so  soon  by  the  loss  of  Marian  and  the  minis- 
ter, had  been  too  much  for  Janet.  It  might  not  have  been, 
her  strong  patient  nature  miglit  have  withstood  it,  if  the 
breaking  up  of  the  l)eloved  famil}'  circle,  the  utter  vanishing 
of  her  baiiiis  fi'oui  her  sight,  had  not  loUowed  so  close  upon 
16        '  (361) 


,f 


•] 


302 


JA^fl:T^;  l«>vk  avd  siiuvici:. 


•  'i| 


ml 


it.  For  wcokH  hIic  luul  been  iillcilv  iirosti.itc.  Flio  IcIUts, 
which  told  the  hairiis,  in  their  CMiiiuhiUi  h<)in(>,  lli:it  their  dear 
friend  was  ill,  and  "weiirvinj,'  "  for  Iheni,  t;)ld  iliem  little  of 
the  tcn-iblo  sulVerinj*  of  that  time.  The  niiseiy  ihat  had 
darkened  her  tirHt  winier  in  jMerleville  eanio  u[)(»n  her  a^'ain 
with  two-fold  pow(  r.  AVorse  than  the  honic-siekness  of  that 
sad  time,  v.aa  the  never  ceaHin*^'  pain,  inad(!  U}>  of  .sorrow  for 
the  dead,  and  inappeaHal)l(>  lonfj^iiifjf  for  the  presence  of  the 
livin«if.  That  she  shonld  have  forKaken  her  darlini,%  to  cast 
in  her  lot  with  others — that  lictween  hor  and  them  should  lie 
miles  and  miles  of  mountain  and  forest,  and  barriers,  hardcT 
to  Ik'  passed  than  these,  it  sickened  her  heart  to  know.  Sho 
knew  it  n(>vcr  could  be  olherwisonow  ;  from  th(>  sentence  she 
had  passed  upon  herself  she  knew  there  could  b(»  no  app(>id. 
She  knew  that  tudess  some  f^reat  soitow  should  fall  upon 
thoni,  they  could  n(»ver  have  one  home  a.^ain  ;  and  iliat  peace 
and  hai>pincs.s  could  ever  come  to  her,  beini:;'  sc^pai'ated  from 
Ihem,  she  neilher  believed  nor  desired.  (Jh!  the  misery  of 
that  time  !  The  fields  and  hill-;,  and  pleasant  places  slio  had 
learned  to  kne,  nhroudcd  themselvi's  in  f^loom.  The  very 
light  f^'ew  hateful  to  her.  Her  prayer,  as  she  lay  still,  while 
the  bitter  waters  rolled  over  licr,  was  l(>ss  the  prayer  of  faith, 
than  of  despair. 

And,  tlu-()U'.>h  all  the  misery  of  that  time,  her  husband 
waited  and  watched  her  wnth  a  tender  patience,  bcautifid  to 
see  ;  never  by  woixl  or  deed,  ^ivin^  token  of  aui^ht  but 
sympathy  and  lovinp^  pity  for  the  poor,  sick,  struf^'ij^linijf  heart. 
Often  and  often,  diu'inj]^  thai  dreary  time,  did  sho  wake  to 
hear,  in  the  stillness  of  the  ni^ht,  or  of  the  early  morninp",  his 
whispered  ju'ayer  of  stron;:>'  entr(vity  risin^x  to  Heaven,  that 
the  void  niijj^ht  bo  fille;l,  that  in  (lod's  .q-ood  time  and  way, 
peace,  and  iK^aling,  and  content,  niif2;ht  come  l)ack  to  the  sick 
and  son'owfe.l  heart. 

And  tliis  canie  after  lon.q-  waitin;:^".  Slowly  the  bitter  waters 
rolled  away,  never  to  ntnrii.  Faith,  lliat  had  set^nied  dead, 
looked  up  once  mor<\  Tlie  sick  heart  thrilled  beneath  the 
touch C'f  the  Ilciilor.   Aqain  the  lij;] it  i.'rev.'  ]>leu[iant  to  her  eyi;::;. 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND   SIRVICE. 


363 


and  Janet  camo  buck  toiler  old  household  ways,  seeing  in  tho 
life  before  herCiod-^nveu  work,  tlmt  might  not  be  left  undone. 
But  she  was  never  (juite  tii(;  siuiie.  There  was  never  quite 
the  old  sharp  ring  in  her  kindly  voice.  She  was  not  less 
eheerfiil,  perhaps,  in  time,  Init  her  cheerfulness  was  of  a  far 
((uleter  kind,  and  her  chidings  were  rare,  and  of  the  mildest, 
now.  Indeed,  she  had  non(!  to  (tliide  but  tho  motherless 
Emily,  who  mx'ded  little  chiding,  and  much  love.  And  much 
love  did  Janet  give  iier,  vho  had  been  dear  to  all  the  bairns, 
and  the  especial  friend  of  ^Marian,  now  in  Heaven.  And  so 
God's  peace  f(>ll  on  the  icj'.con'H  quiet  liousehold,  and  tho 
gloom  passed  away  from  Uh!  lields  and  hills  of  INIcrlevillo, 
and  its  i)leasant  nooks  and  coriK^rs  smiled  once  nion;  with  a 
look  of  home  to  Janet,  as  she  grew  content  in  the  knowledge 
that  her  durhngs  were  well  and  hap})}',  though  she  might 
never  niidce  them  her  daily  nivc  again.  ]3ut  she  never  forgot 
them,  ller  renien»branceof  thom  never  grew  less  losing,  and 
tender,  ind  true.  And  so,  as  tho  years  passed,  the  old  long- 
ing came  back,  and,  day  by  day,  grow  stronger  in  h(;r  heart 
tho  wish  to  know  assuredly  that  the  children  of  her  love  wero 
as  good  and  hajjpy  as  they  ought  to  '  c. 

Had  her  love  been  less  deep  and  ycwrning  she  might  have 
been  more  easily  content  with  the  tolcens  of  an  innocent  and 
happy  life  visible  in  their  home.  If  happiness  had  been, 
in  her  estimation,  but  the  enjoyment  of  genial  days  and 
restfu^  rights,  with  no  cares  to  hurrass,  and  onl}  pleasant 
duticM  to  perform  ;  if  the  iiiterchango  of  kindly  oflices,  the 
Viitie  r.cts  of  self-denial,  the  giving  up  of  trilles,  the  taking 
clieerfiiUy  of  tho  little  disappointments,  which  ev(>n  tlieir 
pleasant  life  w:is  subject  to — if  thesohad  l)een  toh<'i-  snllicient 
tests  of  goodness,  she  might  have  been  satisfied  with  all  she  saw. 

But  she  was  not  satislieil,  for  slu;  knew  that  there  are  few 
h(>arts  so  sliallow  as  to  !"•  tilled  full  \vith  W  that  hiieh  a  life 
of  case  could  giv(\  ;>li.!  knew  that  the;  gixidness,  that  might 
seem  to  suirice  thr  )ugh  these  tramiuil  and  pleasant  days, 
could  be  no  detV'iice  against  the  strong  temptationsllmt  might 
beset  them  uniid  the  cares  of  life.     ''lor,"  said  she  to  her- 


304 


JANKT  8    LoVK    AM)   SKUVICE. 


U: 


I'  i 


n\ 


[;  1 1 , 

'I; 


I'  .'I 


Kolf,  "  tlin  burn  runs  smoothly  o'l  ovor  the  pcblilois  in  its  bed 
Avitljont  11  bi*(!:ik  (H*  (mI'.Iv,  fill  tlio  pcbblc^s  <'1).in;i;(>  to  i-ocksand 
stones,  Mil' I  tlioii  it  briuvls,  and  iiin-nnirs,  and  djislu's  itself 
to  foam  jimon;^  Ihcjn — and  to  lidp."  Slu;  was  content  with 
no  Nuch  evidence  of  ha])i>iu"ss  or  j^oodness  as  lay  on  the  sur- 
face of  their  pleasant  life,  so  she  waited  and  watched,  sceinj? 
without  seeininfjf  to  see,  many  thinfj^s  that  less  lovin*^  <\veH 
niij^ht  have  overlcok(>d.  Sh<'  saw  1h(>  un<iuiet  lij^ht  that 
j^leamed  at  thnos  in  (IracMne's  eyes,  and  tlu^  shiidow  of  the 
cloud  that  now  and  then  rested  on  her  brow,  even  in  their 
most  mirthf'il  moments.  Sh(>  smiled,  as  they  all  did,  at  tho 
lively  s;d!ies,  and  i>retty  willl'iilncss  of  Hose,  but  she  knew 
fnll  well,  that  that  wliich  mad(!  mirtli  in  the  lovinj,'  home- 
circle,  iiri;^ht  mak(*  sorrow  foi*  th(»  household  darlinj:*-,  when 
tlu!  charm  of  lovo  was  no  hmu^'T  round  her.  And  so  she 
watched  them  all,  se?in,i;in  tritlos,  in  chance  words  and  uncon- 
scious d(>(nlH,  BiL^nisand  tokcMisfo:- f^ood  or  for  evil,  that  would 
never  have  revealed  thenis(>lvcs  to  one  who  loved  them  less. 

For  Will,  she  had  no  fear.  He  >vas  his  father's  own  son, 
with  his  father's  work  awaitinijf  him.  All  would  be  well  with 
Will.  And  for  Arthur,  too,  the  kind  and  thou^^btl'ul  eld«'r 
brotlu>r — the  father  avid  brother  of  tlu>  littk^  houseliold,  both 
in  one,  her  hopes  were  stronj.:cer  than  her  doubts  or  Tears.  It 
would  have  ^iven  her  a  sore  heart,  indeed,  to  believe  him  far 
from  tho  way  in  which  his  father  walked. 

"Ho  has  a  leavc^u  of  W(M'!dliness  in  him,  I'll  no' deny," 
said  she  to  lier  husband  one  ni;dd,  when  they  were  alone  in 
the  privacy  of  their  own  apartment.  "  And  the  >  is  more  d(!- 
sin>  for  wealth  in  his  hear!,  end  for  the  honor  duit  comes 
from  man,  than  h(>  himself  kens.  He  Ml  maybe  {.(et  tlieni,  and 
maybe  no'.  Jint  if  he  <»'i'ts  them,  tliey  '11  no'  s  itisty  him,  and 
if  h(^  g.'ts  them  ni)t,  \\o  '11  <^'et  somethin;^  b(>tter.  I  have  small 
fear  for  the  la<l.  lie  minds  his  fallier's  ways  and  wailc  too 
Av ell  to  be  lon^r  (-onlcnt  with  his  own  halliii'ij^  }iaee.  It's  a 
fine  life  just  now,  with  folk  lookuipf  up  to  him,  andputtin,i» 
tiiist  in  him,  but  he'll  weary  of  il.  There  is  nothing  in  it  to 
fill,  for  long,  the  heart  of  his  father's  s.)n." 


11*3 


•TAN'KT  S    LOVK    AND   8KUVICE. 


305 


And  in  hor  (jiiict,  wjiitiiiff  and  watcliin;^,  Jjinct  t,TC\v  assured 
for  tlicni  all  at  last.  Not  that  th«_v  wvn:  very  wise  or  j^'ood, 
but  her  faith  tliat  they  woro  lvO]>t  of  (»od  <^Yii\\  stron^N-r  ovcuy 
day  ;  and  to  Im;  ever  in  (Jod's  k<'('|)iii^,  meant  to  this  hunil)l(% 
truKifiil,  Chi'istian  wojiiaii,  to  have  all  that  cvf  ii  her  y(virnin^' 
lovo  could  ci'ave  for  hiT  du'liii'^'s.  It  left  h(!r  nothing'  to  fear 
for  I  hem,  nothing  to  wisli  in  their  behalf  ;  so  slu;  came  to  be 
at  p(!a(.'eal)out  them  all  ;  and  ^'ently  checked  the  willful  words 
and  ways  of  llosc  and  waited  patiently  till  (Jraeme,  of  her 
own  accord,  sliould  show  her  the  cloud  in  the  shadow  of 
which  she  sometimes  sat. 

As  to  Fanny,  the  n<'w  claimant  for  luu*  love  and  inter- 
est, sh(!  was  far  from  IxMUjjf  overlooked  all  this  time,  and  tho 
pretty  litth;  cr(>ature  ju-ovcd  a  far  ^n-eater  mystery  to  tho 
.shrewd,  riuht-jiKlj^'in^  fri<Mid  of  the  family  than  seemed  at  all 
reasonable.  There  wen;  times  when,  had  she  seen  herel.se- 
wlu're,  slu!  would  not  have  hesitated  to  proiiomici!  her  fiivo- 
lous,  vain,  overbeariuLT.  I'A'cn  n)w,  seeiu'if  her  loved  and 
eared  for,  in  the  midst  of  the  bainis,  there  were  moments 
when  she  found  herself  sayiuj^'  it  in  her  heart.  A  duller 
sense,  and  weak(M"  penetration  could  not  have  failed  to  say 
tho  sam(\  But  I'^annv  was  Arthur's  wife,  and  Artlau*  was 
neither  frivolous,  nor  vain,  n<»r  < »verbearnij»',  but  on  tho  con- 
traiy,  wise,  and  stron<»',  and  ^'entli',  ))osse.ssin;^  all  tlu;  virtues 
that  ever  had  made  his  fatlun"  a  mod(?l  in  Janet's  ai  juirin^'' 
eyes,  and  it  si'ciued  a  bold  thin^',  nideed,  to  tliink  lij^fhtly  of 
his  wife.  So  she  mused,  and  por.d(n'ed,  and  watched,  and 
put  Famiy's  beautiful  face  and  winning'  mamier-i,  and  ])retty, 
allectionate  ways,  a;:[ainst  her  very  ( vident  defects,  and  said 
to  herself,  thouj^'h  Art!un''s  wife  was  not  like  ,\rthur's  m-ithei-, 
nor  even  like  his  sisters,  yet  there  were  varieties  of  excel- 
lence", and  surely  tlu'  vdun;/  .'nan  \\;is  belter  able  to  be  trusted 
in  tlie  choice  of  a  lire-!on,%'  IVii  iid  than  :in  old  woman  like  jur 
could  !)(>  ;  an<l  still  she  waite«l  and  i)ondered,  and,  as  usual, 
the  results  of  her  mu^^in.^s  wi'e  ^aven  to  her  attentive  hus- 
band, and  this  time  with  a  litth;  impatient  si;^!!. 

"  I   ncodna  wonder  at   it.     Lovo  is  bliiid,  they  say,  and 


■■*mmrrmwi'' 


36G 


.TANKI  8    L')VE    AND   KEUVICE. 


L 


u 


m 

If! 


1: 


goes  where  it  is  sent,  fiiu'l  it  is  sent  far  more  rarely  to  ^v  isdom 
and  worth,  and  hniul)l(j  gooilncss,  ihau  to  qiiaUtics  that  arc 
far  less  (Icserviiif^  of  the  happiness  it  l)rinj>s  ;  and  Mr,  Ar- 
thur is  no'  above  niakinjjf  a  mistake.  Thouf^h  how  he  shonld 
— mindinj,'  liis  mother  as  he  does — amazes  me.  But  he  's 
well  pl(.'as(^(l,  tliere  can  be  i.o  doubt  of  that,  as  yet,  and  Jliss 
Clraenu;  is  no'  ill-pl<Mis<;d,  and  love  wouhbia  blind  her.  Still 
I  canna  but  wonder  aftev  all  is  said." 

And  she  still  wondered.  Th(>re  were  in  her  vocabulary  no 
gentler  names  f(jr  .he  pretty  Fanny's  defects,  than  just 
frivolity  and  vanity,  iiid  even  after  a  glimpse  or  two  of  her 
stepmother,  Janet's  candid  straightforward  nature  could 
hardly  make  for  tho.w  defects  all  iho  allowance  that  was  to 
be  n Hide.  She  conld  not  realize  how  impossible  it  was,  that 
a  fashionable  education,  under  such  a  teacher  as  ^Irs.  (Jrove, 
should  have  made  her  daughter  otlier  than  she  was,  and  so, 
not  realizuig  that  her  worst  faults  were  those  of  education, 
which  time,  and  experience,  and  the  circumstances  of  her 
life  nuist  correct,  she  had,  at  times,  little  hope  of  Fanny's  fu- 
ture worth  or  wisdom. 

That  is,  she  would  have  had  little  hope  but  for  one  thing — 
Graeme  had  faith  in  Fanny,  that  was  clear.  Love  might 
blind  ^Vi'thur's  eyes  to  her  faults,  or  enlighten  them  to  see 
vii'tues  invisible  to  other  eyes,  but  it  would  not  do  that  for 
Graeme  ;  and  (Jraeme  was  tolci'ant  of  Fanny,  even  at  times 
when  her  httle  airs  and  exactions  made  her  not  quite  agree- 
able to  her  husband.  She  was  patient  and  forbearing  to- 
wards her  faults,  and  smiled  at  the  little  housekeeping  au*s 
and  assumptions,  which  Hose  openly,  and  even  in  Arthiu"'s 
presence,  never  failed  to  resent.  Indeed,  Graeme  refused  to 
see  Fanny's  faults,  or  she  rc'fused  to  acknowledge  that  she 
saw  them,  and  treated  her  always  witli  the  res})ect  due  to  her 
brother's  wife,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  as  well  as  with 
the  love  and  forl)earance  due  to  a  younger  sister. 

And  that  Fanny,  with  all  her  faults  and  follies,  k)ved  and 
trusted  Ciraeme  was  verv  evident.  Tliere  was  contidence  be- 
twcen  them,  to  a  cei'taiii  extent  at  any  rate,  and  seeing  theso 


N 


I 


.lAXKl  S    L()\  K    ANU    SKUVICE. 


3G7 


tliinjTs,  Jiinct  tt)ok  courage  to  hope  Ihat  there  was  mt)ro  in 
the  "  bonny  vain  creature  "  than  it  Avas  given  her  to  see,  and 
to  hope  alsi)  that  Arthur  might  not  one  day  laid  hinisielf  dis- 
appointed in  liis  wife.  Hir  donhts  and  ho2)es  on  the  matter 
were  all  silent,  or  shared  (Uily  with  the  worthy  deacon,  in  the 
solitude  of  tlu'ir  chanibcir.  She  was  slow  to  connnit  herself 
to  (jraeme,  and  (Jraeme  was  in  no  haste  to  ask  her  friend's 
opinioix  of  her  brother's  wife. 

They  had  plenty  of  other  subjects  to  discuss.  All  their 
jNIerleville  hfe  was  gone  over  and  over  during  these  quiet  sum- 
mer da  vs. 

« 

The  talk  was  not  always  ga}'  ;  sometimes  it  was  gi'avo 
cuou{(h,  even  sad,  but  it  was  hapi)y,  too,  in  a  way  ;  at  any 
rate  <hev  never  gi'ew  wearv  of  it.  And  ^Nlrs.  Snow  had 
much  t(j  tell  them  about  the  ju'esent  state  of  their  old  home  ; 
how  the  old  people  wei'e  ])assing  away,  and  the  young  peojjle 
were  growing  up  ;  how  well  the  minister  was  remembered 
there  still,  and  how  glad  all  would  be  to  see  the  minister's 
bairns  among  them  again  ;  and  then  Sandy  and  Emily,  and 
the  ap}>roacliing  wedding  made  an  endless  subject  of  talk. 
Rose  and  Fanny  never  wearied  of  that,  and  Mrs.  Snow  was  as 
pleased  to  tell,  as  they  were  to  hear. 

And  when  Ivosenind  Fanny  were  away,  as  they  often  were, 
and  (Jraeme  was  left  alone  with  her  friend,  there  were 
graver  things  discussed  between  them.  Graeme  told  her 
more  of  then-  family  life,  and  of  their  th'st  expeiiences  than 
she  had  ever  heard  before.  She  t(»ld  her  of  her  illness,  and 
homesickness,  and  of  the  many  misgivings  she  had  had  as 
to  whether  it  had  been  wise  for  (hem  all  to  come  to  bur- 
den  Art^nu".  She  told  her  of  Harry,  and  licr  old  terrors  on 
his  account,  and  how  all  these  hud  given  place  to  hope,  that 
was  aim  -st  certainty  now,  t^hat  she  need  never  ff;ir  for  liim 
for  thes;imo  cause  more.  They  rejoiced  together  over  liilila 
antl  Xornian,  and  recalled  to  one  another  their  old  ]iride  in 
tlu' lad  uhiui  h(!  had  suved  the  little  (nriaan  girl  from  the 
terrible  fate  that  ha  1  overtaken  her  family,  an<l  sniiloil  at  ttte 
misgivings  they  had  had  when  he  refused  to  let  her  go  with 


308 


JANETS    LOVK   AND   SERVICK. 


if' 


m4. 


tho  friends  who  would  have  taken  her.  This  was  all  to  bo  re- 
joiced over  now.  No  doubt  tho  care  and  pains  wliich  Norinan 
had  needed  to  bestow  on  his  little  ad.)j)tevl  sis  for,  had  done 
nnich  to  con-ect  the  nativo  thoughtlessness  of  his  character, 
and  no  doubt  her  love  and  care  would  henceforth  make  the 
liappiness  of  his  life.  80  they  said  to  one  another  with 
smiles,  and  not  without  givitefiil  tears,  in  view  of  the  over- 
ruling love  and  earo  visible  in  all  they  had  to  renieujber  of 
one  and  all. 

And  Will.,  who  seemed  to  be  Graeme's  own  more  than 
either  of  the  other  brothers,  because  she  had  cared  for  him, 
and  taught  him,  and  watched  over  him,  from  the  very  first, 
Bhe  permitted  herself  to  triumph  a  little  over  him,  in  private 
with  her  friend,  and  Janet  was  r  othing  loth  to  hear  and 
triumph  too,  for  in  tho  lad  his  father  lived  iv^ain  to  her,  and 
she  was  not  slow  to  believe  in  his  sister's  loving  pn)phecy  as 
to  his  future.  Graeme  could  not  ocmceul,  indeed  she  did  not 
ti-y  to  conceal  from  her  fiicnd,  ht)w  nnich  she  feared  the  part- 
ing from  him,  and  though  Janet  chid  her  for  the  teai"s  that 
fell  so  fast,  it  was  with  a  gentle  tenderness  that  only  quicken- 
ed their  flow. 

And  now  and  then,  in  these  long  talks  and  frequent  silence, 
Janet  fancied  th;it  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  tlie  cloud  that  had 
cast  a  shadow  over  Graeme's  Hfo,  but  she  was  never  sure. 
It  was  not  to  be  spoken  about,  however,  nothing  could  be 
clearer  than  that. 

"  For  a  cloud  that  can  be  blown  away  by  a  friend's  word, 
will  lift  of  itself  without  help  in  a  while.  And  if  it  is  no'  a 
cloud  of  that  kind,  the  fewer  words  the  better.  And  timcj 
heals  many  a  wound  that  the  touch  of  tho  kindest  hand 
would  hurt  sin'ely.  And  God  is  good."  But  all  this  was 
said  in  Janet's  socrtit  prayer.  Not  even  her  husband  shaved 
her  thoughts  about  (iraeme. 

"  AVliat  a  dismal  day  it  is !  "  said  Fanny,  as  she  stooi'i  at 
the  window,  hstening  to  tlu;  wind  and  watching  the  fall  of 
the  never-ceasing  rain. 

It  was  dismal.     It  nnist  have  been  a  dismal  day  evou  in 


janet'b  love  and  skkvice. 


3G9 


the  country,  where  the  rain  was  fullin<^  on  beautiful  preen 
tliinpf.s  to  their  refreshment ;  and  in  tlie  city  street,  out  upon 
which  Fanny  looked,  it  was  worse.  Now  and  then  a  milk 
earf,  or  a  eairiaj^e  with  the  curtains  closely  drawn,  went  past; 
and  now  and  then  n  foot  passen^j^er,  doiuf^'  battle  mth  th(5 
wind  for  the  possession  of  his  umbrella  ;  but  these  did  not 
bn^'hten  tlu;  scene  any. 

It  was  dismal  within  doors,  too,  Fanny  thou<jht.  It  was 
during  the  time  of  Mr.  Snow  and  Will's  first  trip,  and  Ar- 
thur had  gone  away  on  business,  and  was  not  expected  homo 
for  a  day  or  two,  at  least.  A  household  of  women  is  not 
neccessarily  a  dismal  affair,  even  on  a  rainy  day,  but  a  house- 
hold suddenly  deprived  of  the  male  element,  is  apt  to  bt^como 
so  in  those  circumstances,  unless  some  domestic  business 
supposed  to  be  most  successfully  accomplished  at  such  a 
time  is  being  carried  on  ;  and  no  wonder  that  Fanny  wan- 
dered fi'om  room  to  roon),  in  an  uncomfortable  state  of 
mind. 

Graeme  and  Rose  were  not  uncomfortable.  Rose  had  a 
way  of  })utting  aside  difficult  music  to  be  practised  on  rainy 
days,  and  she  was  ajit  to  become  soengi'ossed  in  her  pleasant 
occupation,  as  to  take  little  heed  of  what  was  going  on  about 
her,  and  all  Fanny's  exclamations  of  discontent  were  lost  on 
her.  Graeme  was  writing  letters  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
Mrs.  Snow  wan  supposed  to  bo  taking  her  after-dinner's  rest, 
up  stairs,  but  she  came  into  the  room  in  time  to  hear  Fanny 
exclaim  petulantly, 

"  And  we  were  very  foolish  to  have  an  early  dinner.  That 
would  have  been  somethhig  to  look  forward  to.  And  no  one 
can  possibly  call.  Even  INIr.  (Jreen  would  be  better  thdn 
nobody — or  even  Charlie  Millar.' 

"  These  gentlemen  would  bo  highly  llattered  if  they  heard 
you,"  said  Rose,  laughiiig,  as  she  rose  to  ili'aw  forward  tho 
arm-chair  to  ]\rrs.  Snow. 

"  Arc  you  not  tired  playing,  Rose,"  said  Fanny,  fretfully. 

"By  no  moans.     I  hope  my  playing  does  not  disturb  you. 


I  think  this  march  is  charming. 
10* 


Come  and  try  it. " 


370 


JANET  a    LOVK   AND   SERVICE. 


H 

mi 


m 


mi 

m 


:l 


iin 


m 


"No,  I  thank  you.  If  the  music  docs  not  disturb  IMrs. 
Snow,  T  don't  mind  it." 

"  I  Ukc  it,"  said  Mrs.  Snow.  "  The  music  is  cheerful  this 
dull  day.     Though  I  would  like  a  song  better." 

•'  By  and  l)y  you  shall  have  a  song.  I  would  just  lilie  to 
go  over  this  two  or  throe  times  more." 

"  Two  or  three  times !  Two  or  three  hundi'cd  times,  you 
moan,"  said  Fanny.  "  There  's  no  end  to  Rose's  inlaying  when 
she  begins." 

Then  she  wandered  into  the  back  parlor  again. 

"Are  you  going  to  ^^Titc  all  day,  (Jraeme?" 

"  Not  all  day.  Has  INIrs.  Snow  come  do^vn  ?  "  asked  she, 
coming  fonvard.  *'  I  have  been  neglecting  Harr}'  lately,  and 
I  have  so  much  to  tell  him,  but  111  soon  be  done  now." 

"  My  dear,' '  said  Mrs.  Snow,  "  dinna  heed  mo  ;  I  have  my 
knitting,  and  I  enjoy  the  music." 

"  Oh !  dear !  I  wish  it  did  'nt  rain,"  said  Fanny. 

"  My  dear,  the  earth  was  needing  it,"  said  IMrs.  Snow,  by 
•way  of  saying  sometliing,  "  and  it  will  be  beautiful  when  the 
rain  is  over." 

"  I  behove  Graeme  likes  a  rainy  day,"  said  Fanny.  *'  It  is 
very  stupid,  I  think." 

"Yes,  I  sometimes  like  a  rainy  day.  It  brings  a  little 
leisure,  which  is  agreeable." 

Fanny  slu*nggcd  her  shouldoi's. 

"  It  u  rather  dismal  to-day,  however,"  said  Graeme.  "  You 
look  cold  with  that  light  dress  on,  Fanny,  why  don't  you  go 
and  change  it  ?  " 

"  "What  is  the  use  ?  I  wish  Arthur  were  coming  home. 
He  might  have  come,  I  'm  siu-e." 

"  You  may  be  sure  he  will  not  stay  longer  than  he  can 
help,"  said  Graeme,  tm-ning  to  her  letter  again. 

"  And  my  dear,  might  you  no'  take  a  seam  ?  It  would  pass 
the  time,  if  it  did  nothing  else,"  said  jMrs.  Snow. 

But  the  suggestion  was  not  noticed,  and  partly  because  she 
did  not  wish  to  interfere,  and  partly  because  she  had  some 


JANKT  S    LOVi:   AND   SKUVICK. 


371 


curiosity  to  sco  liow  tho  littlo  lady  would  get  out  of  her 
dipjomfort,  Mrs.  Hnow  knitted  on  in  Hilenco. 

*'  Make  sonicthin;^'  nice;  for  tou,"  suggested  Rose,  glanc'ng 
over  her  .shoiildiu". 

"  Tiiat  is  not  necessary  »o?r,"  said  Fanny,  shortly. 

"Oh!  I  only  suggested  it  for  your  sake — toimss  tho  time," 
said  Rose. 

It  lasted  a  good  while  longer.  It  lasted  till  Graeme, 
catchuig  j\L\s.  Snow's  look,  became  suddenly  aware,  that  their 
old  friend  was  thinking  her  own  thoughts  about  "  Airs. 
Arthiu*."  She  rose  at  once,  and  shutting  her  desk,  and 
going  to  the  winilow  .whovc  Fanny  was  standing,  said  with  a 
shiver  : 

"  It  /s  dismal,  indeed.  Fanny,  look  at  that  melancholy 
cat.  She  wants  to  come  in,  but  she  is  afraid  to  leave  her  jircs- 
ent  shelter.     Poor  wee  pussy." 

"  Graeme,  don't  you  wish  Arthur  wore  coming  home,"  said 
Fanny,  hanging  about  her  as  she  had  a  fashion  of  doing  now 
and  then. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  But  wo  must  not  tell  liim  so.  It  would 
make  him  vain  if  he  laiew  how  much  wo  missed  him.  Go 
and  change  your  th'ess,  dear,  and  we  '11  have  a  fire,  and  an 
early  tea,  and  a  nice  little  gossip  in  tho  firelight,  and  then 
we  won't  miss  him  so  much." 

"Fire !"  repeated  Rose,  looking  disconsolately  at  the  pret- 
ty ornaments  of  the  gi'ate  with  which  she  had  taken  so  much 
pains.  "Who  ever  heard  of  a  fire  in  a  grate  at  this  time  of 
the  year  ?  " 

But  Rose  was  overruled.  They  had  a  firo  and  an  early 
tea,  and  then,  sitting  in  the  fii'elight,  they  had  a  gossip,  too, 
about  many  different  things.  Janet  told  them  moro  than 
she  had  ever  told  them  before,  of  how  she  had  "wearied 
for  them"  when  they  first  left  INIcrleville,  and  by  and  by  Rose 
said, 

"  But  that  was  all  over  when  Sandy  came." 

"It  was  over  before  that,  for  his  coming  was  long  delayed, 


372 


jankt's  lovk  and  skrvick. 


jis  you  '11  mind  yoursolvcs.  I  was  quite  content  before  ilmt 
time,  but  of  course  it  was  a  great  thiufj^  to  me,  the  cominpf  of 
n\v  Sandy." 

"  Oh  !  how  f(lad  you  must  liavc  been  !  "  said  Rose.  "  I 
wish  I  had  been  there  to  see.  Tell  us  what  you  said  to  him, 
and  what  ho  said  to  you." 

*'  I  dinna  mind  what  I  said  to  him,  or  if  I  said  anything 
at  idl.  And  he  just  said,  '  Wcel  mother ! '  with  his  heartsomo 
smile,  and  the  shine  of  tears  in  his  bonny  blue  e'en,"  said 
Janet,  with  a  laugh  that  might  vciy  easily  have  changed  to 
a  sob  ;  "  and  oh !  bairns,  if  ever  I  carried  a  thankful  heart  to 
a  throne  of  grace,  I  did  that  night." 

"  And  would  you  have,  known  hun  ?  "  asked  Rose,  gently. 

"  Oh !  ay,  would  I.  No'  but  what  ho  was  much  changed.  I 
wouldna  have  minded  him,  but  I  would  have  kenned  him 
anywhere." 

Janet  sat  silent  with  a  moved  face  for  a  little,  and  then  sho 
went  on. 

"  I  had  had  many  a  thought  about  his  coming,  and  I  grew 
afraid  as  the  time  di'ew  near.  Either,  I  thought,  he  winna 
like  my  husband,  or  they  winna  agree,  or  ho  will  have  forgot- 
ten mo  altogether,  and  winna  find  it  easy  to  call  me  his 
mother,  or  he  *11  disappoint  me  in  some  way,  I  thought.  You 
sec  I  had  so  set  my  heart  on  seeing  him,  that  I  was  afraid  of 
myself,  and  it  seemed  to  be  more  than  I  could  hope  that  ho 
should  be  to  me  all  that  I  desired.  But  when  he  came,  my 
fears  were  set  at  rest,  lie  is  an  honest,  (Jod  fearing  lad,  my 
Sandy,  and  I  need  say  nae  mair  about  hiui." 

"  And  so  clever,  and  handsome !  And  what  did  Mr.  Snow 
say?"        _ 

'*  Oh !  his  heart  was  cariied  captive,  from  the  very  lli'st, 
Avith  Sandy's  heavtsome,  kindly  ways.  It  made  mo  laugh  to 
myself,  many  a  time,  to  see  them  together,  and  it  made  mo 
gi'cct  whiles,  as  well.  All  my  fears  were  rebulccd,  and  it  is 
th(^  burden  of  my  prayers  from  day  to  day,  that  I  may  havo 
a  thankful  h(\art." 

"  And  how  did  Sandy  hke  Merleville,  and  all  the  people  ?  " 


. 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


?>73 


*' O,  lie  liked  them  well,  you  may  bo  sure.  It  would  hivo 
been  very  nnj^'nitcful  if  he  had  not,  they  made  ;«)  much  of 
him — !>rr.  and  'Mvh.  (Jreeiileaf,  ospeeially,  and  the  Merles,  and 
plenty  be.>ides.  lie  made  himself  very  useful  to  Mr.  (ireen- 
leaf,  in  many  ways,  for  ho  is  a  elover  lad,  m}'  Sandy.  It's  on 
his  business  that  ha  's  West  now.     But  ho  '11  soon  be  homo 


agani. 


"And  Emily!  Tell  us  just  what  they  said  to  each  other 
at  first,  and  what  they  th(ju^ht  of  oaeh  other." 

"  I  canna  do  that,  for  I  was  na  there  to  hear.  Emily  saw 
my  Sandy  before  I  saw  him  myself,  as  you  '11  mind  I  told 
you  before." 

"  And  was  it  lovo  at  fu-st  sight  ?  "  asked  Fanny. 

"  And  did  tho  course  of  tiiio  lovo  for  oneo  nm  smooth," 
said  Rose.     ]\[rs.  Snow  smiled  at  their  eagerness. 

*'  As  for  tho  lovo  at  first  sight — it  came  very  soon  to  my 
Sandy.  I  am  no'  sm*c  about  Emily.  As  for  its  runiimg 
smooth,  thero  was  a  woo  while  it  was  hindered.  They  had 
theii*  doubts  and  fears,  as  was  natural,  and  their  misimdor- 
standings.  But,  Oh !  bairns,  it  was  just  wonderful  to  sit  by 
and  look  at  them.  I  saw  their  happy  troubles  coming  on 
before  they  saw  it  themselves,  I  think.  It  was  like  a  story 
out  of  a  book,  to  watch  them  ;  or  like  one  of  the  songs  folk 
used  to  sing  when  I  Wiis  young —the  sweet  old  Scottish  songs, 
that  are  passing  out  of  mind  now,  I  fear.  I  never  saw  tho 
two  together  in  our  garden,  but  I  thought  of  tho  song  that 
begins, 

"  Af;  simnicr  niclit  when  blobs  o'  dew, 
(Jarred  ilka  tiling  look  bonu^- — " 

Ah  !  AVell.  Ciod  has  been  good  to  them,  and  to  us  all." 
"And  Mr.  Su  )\v  v.-a-i  w.^ll  ploa-c  1,  of  course,"  said  Faimy. 
"  Pleased  is  hardly  tho  v^orvl  for  it.  He  had  just  S(;t  his 
heart  on  it  from  the  very  lirsf,  and  I  had,  whiles,  much  ado 
to  keep  hhn  from  seeming  to  sec  things,  and  to  keep  him 
from  putting  his  hand  to  help  them  a  wee,  which  never  docs, 
you  ken.     Folk  must  find  out  such  things  for  themselves,  and 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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JANET  S    LOVi:    AND    SEIiVICE. 


vix 


'■■1 


the  cannioist  hand  may  hinder,  rather  than  help,  with  the 
very  best  will.     O  ay,  he  was  well  pleased." 

"  And  it  is  so  nice  that  they  are  to  be  so  close  beside  yoa 
I  daresay  we  shall  hardly  know  our  old  home,  it  will  be  so 
much  imj)rovetl." 

"  It  is  impioved,  but  no'  beyond  your  knowledge  of  it.  It 
was  aye  a  bonny  place,  you  '11  mind.  And  it  ?'.s  improved, 
doubtless,  for  her  father  thmks  there  is  nothing  too  good  for 
Emily." 

"  And  O  bamis,  we  have  a'  reason  to  bo  thankfuL  If  wo 
tnist  our  affairs  in  God's  hand,  He  '11  '  bring  it  to  pass,'  as  he 
has  said.  And  if  we  are  his,  there  is  no  fear  but  the  very 
best  thing  for  us  will  happen  in  the  end." 


, 


the 

ou. 
so 


It 

ed, 
for 

wo 
lie 

217 


,11 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

'  '  ^XTHO  is  Mr.  Grocn,  anyhow  ?  " 

y  Y  The  question  was  addi-esscd  by  Mr.  Snovr  to  the 
company  generally,  is  ho  paused  in  liis  leism-ely  walk  up  and 
down  the  gallerj',  and  stood  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  window, 
looking  in  upon  them.  His  manner  might  have  suggested  the 
idea  of  some  mystery  in  comiection  with  the  name  he  had 
mentioned,  so  slowly  and  gravely  did  his  eyes  travel  from  one 
face  to  another  turned  toward  him.  As  his  qucs-tion  had 
been  addressed  to  no  one  in  particular,  no  one  answered  for  a 
minute. 

*'  Wlio  is  ]VIr.  Green,  that  I  hear  tell  so  much  about  ?  "  he 
repeated  impressively,  fixing  AVill.  with  his  eye. 

"  Mr.  Green  ?  Oh  !  he  is  an  American  merchant  from  the 
West,"  said  the  hteral  Will.,  not  without  a  vague  idea  that 
the  answer,  though  tnie  and  comprehensive,  would  fail  to  con- 
vey to  the  inquiiing  mind  of  the  deacon  all  the  information 
desired. 

"  He  is  a  Green  Mountain  boy.  He  is  the  most  pei-fect  spec- 
imen of  a  real  live  Yankee  ever  encountered  in  these  parts, 
— cool,  sharp,  far-seemg, " 

Charlie  Millar  was  the  speaker,  and  he  was  brought  up 
rather  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  descriptive  eloquence  by 
a  sudden  merry  twinkle  in  the  eye  of  his  principal  listener; 
and  his  confusion  was  increased  by  a  touch  from  Kose's 
little  hand,  intended  to  remind  liim  that  real  hve  Yankees 
were  not  to  be  indiscreetly  meddled  with  in  the  present 
company. 

"  Is  that  all  you  can  say  for  your  real  live  Y'ankeo,  Charlie, 
man  ? "  said  Arthur,  whose  seat  on  the  gallerv  permitted 

(375) 


■'itfiTMTMaaggaaai 


r 


376 


janict's  love  and  sehvice. 


&    IHj 


■ff 


him  to  hear,  but  not  to  seo,  all  that  was  goiii;^  on  in  the 
room.  "  Why  tlou't  you  add,  ho  speculates,  ho  whittles,  ho 
ch(!ws  tobacco,  ho  is  six  feet  two  iii  his  stockuijj^s,  he  knows  the 
market  value  of  every  article  and  object,  animate  and  inani- 
mate, on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  is  a  livhig  illustration  of 
the  truth  of  the  provcrl),  that  the  cents  lacing  cared  for,  no 
apprehension  need  be  entertained  as  to  the  safety  of  tho 
dollars." 

"  And  a  hving  contradiction  of  all  the  stale  old  sayings 
about  the  vanity  of  ric-hes,  and  their  inaljility  to  give  even  a 
transitory  content,"  said  Charlie,  with  laughing  defiance  at 
Rose. 

"  Quite  true,  CharHe,"  said  Arthui- ;  "  if  Mr.  Green  has  ever 
had  any  doubts  about  the  almighty  dollar  being  the  'ulti- 
mate end,'  he  has  nursed  or  combated  his  doubts  in  se- 
cret. Nothing  has  transpired  to  indicate  any  such  wavering 
of  faith." 

"  Yes,  it  is  his  only  standard  of  worth  in  all  things  material 
and  moral,"  said  Charlie.  "When  he  enters  a  room,  you  can 
see  by  his  look  that  he  is  putting  a  price  on  all  things  in  it 
— the  car^^et  and  cm'tains — the  books  and  pretty  things — even 
the  ladies — " 

"Yes,"'  continued  Arthur  ;  "if  he  were  to  come  in  here  just 
now,  it  would  be — Mrs.  Snow  worth  so  much — naming  the 
sum  ;  Miss  Elhott  so  much  more,  because  she  has  on  a  silk 
gown  ;  Mrs.  Elliott  more  still,  because  she  is  somehow  or  other 
very  spicy,  mdeed,  to-night ;  he  would  appreciate  details  that 
go  beyond  me.  As  for  llosic,  she  would  be  the  most  valuable 
of  all,  accordmg  to  his  estimate,  because  of  the  exti'aordinaiy 
shining  thmgs  on  her  head." 

"  The  possibility  of  their  being  only  imitations,  might  sug- 
gest itself,"  interposed  Charlie. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.  And  imitation  or  not,  they  would  indi- 
cate all  the  same  the  yomig  lady's  love  of  finery,  and  suggest 
to  his  acute  mind  the  idea  of  danger  to  the  purse  of  her  fu- 
ture possessor.     No,  Rosie  would  n't  have  a  chance  with  him. 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


377 


You  needn't  fro-um,  Rosio,  you  haven't,  Wliother  it  is  the 
shining  things  on  your  heutl,  or  the  new  utitt-h  ami  chain,  or 
the  general  weakness  in  the  matter  of  bonnets  that  has  been 
developing  in  your  character  lately,  I  can't  say,  but  nothi'  g 
can  Ijc  plainer,  than  the  fact,  that  hitherto  you  have  failed  to 
make  the  sniallost  imi'ressionon  him." 

"  A  circumstance  which  cannot  fail  to  give  str(}ngth  to  tlio 
general  impression  that  he  is  made  of  cast  iron,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Arthur,  I  am  shocked  and  astonished  at  you,"  said  Rose, 
as  soon  as  she  was  permitted  to  speak.  '•  You  have  forgotten, 
Charlie,  how  kindlv  he  cared  for  your  brother  when  he  was 
sick,  long  ago.  And  Harry  says  that  his  harchiess  and  selfish- 
ness is  more  in  appearance,  than  real.  He  has  a  vei-y  kind 
heart." 

"Oh  !  if  you  come  to  his  heart,  ^Nliss  Rose,  I  can't  speak 
for  that.  1  have  never  had  an  opportunity  of  satisfying  my- 
self as  to  that  particular.  I  didn't  know  ho  had  one,  indeed, 
and  should  dvnibt  it  no\N',  if  we  had  not  Harry's  authority 
and  yours." 

"  You  see,  Rosie,  when  it  comes  to  the  discussion  of  hearts, 
Charlie  gets  beyond  his  depth.     Ho  has  nothing  to  say." 

"  Especially  tender  hearts,  "  said  Cliarhe  ;  "  I  have  had  a 
little  experience  of  a  flinty  article  or  two  of  that  sort." 

"  Charhe,  I  won't  have  you  two  quarreling,"  said_  Graeme, 
laughing.  "Rose  is  right.  There  is  just  a  grain  or  two  of 
trath  in  what  they  have  been  saying,"  she  added,  turning  to 
Mr.  Snow.  j\Ir.  Green  is  a  real  live  Yankee,  with  many  valiia- 
ble  and  excellent  qualities.  A  little  hard — perhai:)S,  a  little 
worldly.  But  you  should  hoar  him  speak  of  his  mother.  You 
would  sympatliize  with  him  then,  Charlie.  Ho  told  mo  all 
about  his  mother,  one  evening  tluit  I  met  him  at  Grove  House, 
I  think.  Ho  told  mo  about  the  old  homestead,  and  his 
father's  saw-mill,  and  the  log  scliool-housc  ;  and  his  manner  of 
speaking  quite  raisLcl  him  hi  my  opinion.  ^\j'thur  is  wrong  hi 
sa>'Uig  he  cares  for  nothing  but  money." 

"  But,  who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Snow,  with  the  air  of  one  much 


'a 


.  4| 


378 


jaxet's  love  and  service. 


interested.  His  question  wiis  this  time  addi'cssetl  to  Fanny, 
avIk)  had  seated  herself  on  tlio  window  seat  chjse  hy  her  hus- 
band, and  she  replied  eaj^erly, 

"  Oh !  he  is  a  rich  merchant — ever  so  lieh.  He  is  going  to 
give  up  business,  and  travel  in  Europe." 

"For  the  improvement  of  his  mind,"  said  Arthur. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  goes  f(jr,  but  he  is  very  rich,  and 
mav  do  what  he  likes.  Ho  has  built  the  handsomest  house  in 
the  State,  Miss  Smith  tells  me.  Oh !  he  is  ever  so  rich,  and 
he  is  a  bachelor." 

"  I  want  to  know  ?  "  said  Mr.  Snow,  accepting  Fanny's  tri- 
umphant climax,  as  she  gave  it,  with  great  gravity. 

"  He  is  a  great  fiionc,  of  mine,  and  a  great  admirer  of  Miss 
Elliott,"  said  Mrs.  Grove,  with  her  lips  intending  that  her  face 
should  say  nnicli  more. 

"Do  teU?"  said  Mr.  Snow. 

"  A  singular  and  eccentric  person  you  see  he  must  be,"  said 
Will. 

"  A  paradoxical  specimen  of  a  live  Yankee.  Do  n't  fi'own, 
Miss  Rose.  Mrs.  Grove's  statement  proves  my  assertion,"  said 
Charlie. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  meet  him,  Mr.  Snow,  dine  with  us 
on  Friday  "  said  Mrs.  Grove.  "  I  am  quite  sui'e  you  will  like 
and  admii'e  each  other.  I  see  many  points  of  resemblance 
between  you.  Well,  then,  I  shall  expect  you  all.  Miss  Elliott 
you  will  not  disappomt  me,  I  lioi^e." 

"  But  so  large  a  paiiy  !  IMi's.  Grove,  consider  how  many 
there  are  of  us,"  said  Graeme,  who  knew  as  well  as  though 
she  were  speaking  aloud,  that  the  lady  was  sajing  that  same 
thing  to  herself,  and  that  she  was  speculating  as  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  enlarging  the  table. 

"  Pray,  don't  mention  it.  We  are  to  have  no  one  else. 
Quite  a  family  party.  I  shall  be  quite  disappointed  if  I  don't 
see  you  all.     The  garden  is  looking  beautifully  now." 

"  And  one  more  would  n't  make  a  bit  of  difference.  Miss 
Rose,  can't  you  speak  a  good  word  for  me,"  whispered 
Charlie. 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SEKVICE. 


870 


"  Thank  yon,"  said  Graeme,  in  answer  to  ]Mrs.  Grove.  "  I 
have  been  lonj^inj^  to  show  IMrs.  Snow  your  garden  I  hope 
the  roses  are  not  quite  over." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Arthur.  "There  are  any  num1)er  left; 
and  Charhe,  man,  he  snre  and  brin<^  your  Ihite  to  waktMi  the 
cehoes  of  the  yrovo.  It  will  bo  delightful  by  nioonliyht,  won't 
it,  HosieV" 

Mrs.  Grove  gave  a  httle  start  of  surprise  at  the  liberty 
taken  by  Arthur.  "So  unHke  him,"  she  thought.  Mr. 
Millar's  coming  would  make  the  enlargement  of  the  table 
absolutely  necessary.  Howevei-,  she  might  ask  one  or  two 
other  peoi)lc  whom  she  ought  to  have  asked  before,  "  and 
have  it  over,"  as  she  said.     So  she  smiled  sweetly,  and  said, 

"Pray  do,  IMr.  IMillar.  Wo  shall  expect  you  with  the 
rest." 

Charlie  vould  be  delighted,  and  said  so. 

"But  the  flute,"  added  he  to  Rose.  "Well,  for  that  agree- 
able fiction  youi*  brother  is  responsible.  And  a  family  party 
will  be  indeed  charming." 

Dining  at  Grove  House  was  not  to  any  of  them  the 
pleasantest  of  afi'airs,  on  those  occasions  when  it  was  Mrs. 
Grove's  intention  to  distinguish  herself,  and  astonish  other 
people,  by  what  she  called  a  slate  dinner.  Graeme,  who  was 
not  apt  to  shu'k  unpleasant  duties,  made  no  secret  of  her  dis- 
like to  them,  and  cauglit  at  any  excuse  to  absent  herself  with 
an  eagerness  which  Fanny  declared  to  be  anything  but 
polite.  But,  sitting  at  table  in  full  dress,  among  duU  people, 
for  an  mdefinito  length  of  time,  for  no  good  purj^ose  that  she 
had  been  able  to  discover,  was  a  sacrifice  ■which  neither 
Graeme  nor  any  of  the  others  felt  inclined  to  make  often. 

A  dmner  en  famillc,  however,  with  the  dining  room  win- 
dows open,  and  the  prospect  of  a  pleasant  evenmg  ui  the 
garden,  was  a  very  different  matter.  It  was  not  merely  en- 
dui'ablo,  it  was  dehghtful.  So  Rose  arravcd  herself  in  her 
pretty  pink  muslin,  and  then  went  to  superintend  the  toilette 
of  Mrs.  Snow — that  is,  slio  went  to  an-ango  the  folds  of  her 
best  black  silk,  and  to  insist  on  her  wearing  her  j^rettiest 


¥^' 


i:i 


380 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SEKVICE. 


cap — in  a  stiito  of  plcasurablo  oxcitoment  tliat  was  infoctioua, 
and  the  wLolo  party  »ct  off  in  line  spirits.  Graeme  and 
Il(.»sc  cxcliaiig(,'d  d(;n1)tl'id  «^lan(;es  as  they  passed  the  diuinj^- 
room  Avindows.  There  was  an  ominous  disphiy  of  silver  on 
the  sidelioard,  and  the  cidargment  of  the  table  hod  been  on 
an  extensive  scale. 

"  If  she  has  spoiled  Janet's  evening  in  the  garden,  by  in- 
vituig  a  lot  of  stupids,  it  will  bo  too  bad,"  whispered  Eose. 

It  was  not  so  bad  as  that,  however.  Of  the  guests  whoso 
visits  were  tt)  be  "  put  over,"  on  this  occasion,  only  Mr. 
Proudfiite,  a  very  })lctisanl:,  harmless  gentleman,  and  Fanny's 
old  admu-er,  Captain  Starr,  came.  As  to  making  it  a  state 
affau*,  and  sitting  two  or  tlu'ce  hours  at  table,  such  a  thing 
was  not  to  bo  thought  of.  Mr.  Snow  could  cat  his  dinner 
even  in  the  most  unfavorable  circumstances,  in  a  tenth  part 
of  that  time,  and  so  couhl  Mr.  Green,  for  that  matter ;  so 
within  a  reasonable  period,  the  ladies  found  themselves,  not 
in  the  ch.'awing-room,  but  on  the  lawn,  and  the  gentlemen 
soon  followed. 

It  was  the  perfection  of  a  summer  evening,  with  neither 
dust  nor  insects  to  bo  a  drawback,  with  just  wind  enough  to 
make  tremulous  the  shadows  on  the  lawn,  and  to  waft,  from 
the  garden  above  the  house,  the  odors  of  a  thousand  flowers. 
The  garden  itself  did  not  sui*pass,  or  even  equal,  in  beauty 
of  arrangement,  many  of  the  gardens  of  the  neighborhood  ; 
but  it  was  very  beautiful  in  the  unaccustomed  eyes  of  IVIr. 
and  Mrs.  Snow,  and  it  was  with  theii*  eves  that  Graeme  looked 
at  it  to-night.  They  left  the  others  on  the  lawn,  the  gentle- 
men— some  of  them  at  least — smoking  in  the  shade  of  the 
great  cedar,  and  Eose  and  Fanny  making  wreaths  of  the 
roses  the  children  wxn'e  gathering  for  them.  The  garden 
proper  w  as  behind  the  house,  and  thither  they  bent  their 
st(?ps,  Graeme  inwardly  congi*atulating  herself  that  she  and 
Will,  were  to  have  the  pomtiug  out  of  its  beauties  to  their 
fiiends  all  to  themselves.  They  did  not  need  to  be  pointed 
out  to  the  keen,  admiring  eyes  of  Mr.  Snow.  Nothing 
escaped  him,  as  he  walked  slowly  before  them,  looking  over 


jankt's  love  and  skkvice. 


X 


381 


his  shoulder  now  and  then  to  rcinark  on  sonicthinj^^  that  par- 
ticuhi^.'ly  inlciTstcd  hhn.  ^frs.  Snow's  f^outlo  exclamations 
alone  broke  the  silence  for  .sonio  time.  She  hngered  with  an 
interest,  which  to  (Jraenie  was  quite  pathetic,  over  flowers 
faniihar  iu  her  childliood,  but  strangers  to  her  for  many  a 
year. 

"It  minds  mo  of  the  Eljija  Gardens,"  said  she,  after  a 
little.  "  Not  that  it  is  like  thcjn,  except  for  the  fl(jw(>rs.  Tho 
Ebba  Gardens  were  on  a  level,  not  in  terraces  like  this.  You 
winna  mind  the  Ebba  Gardens,  ]Miss  (Jraeme." 

They  had  reached  by  this  time  a  smnmer  house,  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  garden,  and  of  a  beaut  ifid 
stretch  of  country  beyond,  and  here  they  sat  down  to  wait 
the  coming  of  tho  others,  Avhoso  voices  they  heard  below. 

" No,"  said  Graeme,  " I  \\hh  not  at  the  EJjlxa  often.  But 
I  remember  tho  avenue,  and  the  ghmpse  of  the  lake  that 
comes  so  unexpectedly  after  the  first  turning  from  the  gate. 
I  am  not  sure  wheth'er  I  remember  it,  or  whether  it  is  only 
fancy  ;  but  it  must  have  been  very  beautiful." 

"  It  is  only  fancy  to  you,  I  doubt,  for  we  turned  many  a 
time  after  going  in  at  the  gate,  before  the  lake  came  in 
sight." 

"Perhaps  so.  But  I  don't  think  it  can  all  be  fanc}-.  I 
am  sure  I  mind  the  lake,  with  the  swans  sailing  on  it,  and 
the  -wee  green  islets,  and  tho  branches  of  the  birch  trees 
drooping  down  into  the  water.     Don't  you  mind  V  " 

"  Yes,  I  mind  well.  It  was  a  bonny  place,"  said  Janet, 
■with  a  sigh. 

"  But,  what  a  tiny  lake  it  must  have  been !  I  remember 
we  could  quite  well  see  the  flowers  on  the  other  side.  It 
could  not  have  been  half  so  large  as  Merle ville  Pond." 

"  It  was  n't  hardly  worth  while  calling  it  a  lake,  was  it  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Snow. 

"It  did  for  want  of  a  bigger,  you  know,"  said  Graeme, 
laughing.     "  It  made  up  in  beauty  what  it  wanted  in  size." 

"  It  was  a  bonny  spot,"  said  Mrs.  Snow. 

"And  tho  birds!    VVhcnovcr  I  want  to  imagine  bird  music 


m 


■HHB 


l^ 


382 


JANKT.S    LOVK    AND   SKPtVICK. 


in  i)f'rf(  (.'lion,  I  shut  niv  ryes,  and  tliink  of  tlio  l)irchcs 
dr()()[)iii^'  over  tljo  watrr.  I  v/ondcr  what  bmls  thcj*  wcro 
tliat  sang  tliorc  i  I  have  never  heard  such  singing  of  birds 
sinco  then." 

"No,  thf'i'e  are  no  such  singing  birds  here,"  said  !Mrg. 
Snow.  "  I  u-(- 1  to  nu.ss  tho  lark's  song  in  the  morning,  and 
the  evening  voices  of  ilic  cnshat  and  the  blackbird.  There 
are  no  birds  like  them  here." 

"  Ain't  it  ju-t  jK>s.siblo  that  the  music  may  1)C  fancy,  too, 
MLss  CJraeiije,"  siiid  Mi*.  Snow,  who  did  not  like  to  hear  the 
regretful  echo  in  his  wife's  voice  when  she  spoke  of  "  home." 
Graeme  langljod,  and  Mrs.  Snow  smiled,  for  they  both  under- 
stof)d  his  f-eling  veiT  well,  and  ^Irs.  Snow  said, 

"No,  the  music  of  the  birds  is  no  fancy,  as  you  might 
Imow  from  Sandy,  Tlifre  are  no  birds  Hkc  them  here  ;  but 
I  have  learned  to  distinguish  many  a  pleasant  note  among 
the  American  birds — not  like  our  own  lintie?  at  home,  but 
very  sweet  and  cheei-ful  notwithstanding." 

"Tlie  birds  v.ero  real  birds,  and  the  music  was  real  music. 
Oh !  I  wonder  if  I  ever  shall  hear  it  again !  "  said  Graeme, 
with  a  sigh.  "  You  will  hear  it  AVill ,  and  see  the  dear  old 
place.     Oh  I  how  I  wish  you  coald  take  mo  too."   Will,  smiled. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  the  birds  and  see  the  places  again. 
But  I  don't  remember  the  Ebba,  or,  indeed,  any  of  the  old 
places,  except  our  own  house  and  garden,  and  yoiu'  mother's 
cottage^  ZVIrs.  Snov.-.     I  mind  the  last  time  we  were  there  Avell." 

"  I  mind  it,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  gravel3\ 

"  ^Vnd  yet,  I  should  be  almost  sorry  to  go  back  ngain,  lesfc 
I  should  have  my  ideas  disturbed  l;)y  finding  places  and 
people  different  fi'om  what  I  have  been  fancying  them  all  this 
time.  All  those  old  scenes  are  so  many  lovely  pictures  to 
me,  and  it  W(juld  be  sad  to  go  and  find  them  less  lovely  than 
tliey  seem  io  me  now.  I  have  read  of  such  things,"  said 
Graeme. 

"  I  would  na  fear  anything  of  that  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Snow  ; 
"  I  mind  them  all  w>  well." 

"  Do  yoih  ever  think  you  would  Hkc  to  go  back  again  ?  " 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AM)   si;i:vi(i:. 


383 


lest 

and 

this 

Is  to 

than 

I  said 

|ow ; 
9" 


said  "Will.     "  Would  not  jou  liko  to  sec  the  old  faces  and  tlio 
old  ]")lacos  once  more  ?  " 

"No,  lad,"  said  ^Ivh.  Snow,  emphatically.  ''I  have  no 
wish  (>vor  to  <^o  back." 

"You  are  afraid  of  the  sea?  But  the  steamers  are  very 
different  from  the  old  '  Ste;idfast.'  " 

''I was  not  thinkiuQfof  the  sea,  tlion;»h  I  would  dread  that 
too.  But  why  should  I  wish  to  '^o  back?  Tli(>re  are  two  or 
three  places  I  would  like  to  sec — the  ^'Icn  where  my  moth- 
er's cotta.Lj'C  stood,  and  two  or  three  jj^raves.  And  when  I 
shut  mv  eves  I  can  sec  them  here.  No,  I  have  no  wish  to 
go  back." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  ^Ers.  Snow,  turn- 
ing her  clear,  kind  eyes  on  her  husband,  over  whose  face  a 
wistful,  expostulating  look  was  stealing,  said, 

"  I  like  to  think  about  the  dear  faces,  and  the  ojd  places, 
sometimes,  and  to  speak  about  them  with  the  bairns  ;  it  is 
both  sad  and  pleasant  now  and  then.  But  I  am  quite  con- 
tent with  all  tilings  as  they  are.  I  wouldna  go  back,  and  I 
wouldna  change  my  lot  if  I  might.     I  am  (juite  content." 

Mr.  Snow  smiled  and  nodded  in  his  own  peculiar  fashion 
for  reply.  Tlierc  could  be  no  douV>t  of  A's  content,  or  Mrs. 
Snow's  either,  Graeme  acknowlcdgeil,  and  then  her  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  time  when  Janet's  lot  had  been  so  different. 
She  thought  of  the  husband  of  her  youth,  and  how  long  the 
gi-ave had  closed  over  him ;  she  remembered  her  long  }ears  of 
patient  labor  in  the  manse;  the  bitter  home-sickness  of  the 
first  months  in  Mcrleville,  and  all  the  changes  that  had  come 
since  then.  And  yet,  Janet  was  not  changed.  She  was  the 
very  same.  The  qualities  that  had  made  her  invaluable  to 
them  all  those  years,  made  the  happiness  of  her  husljand  and 
her  home  still,  aind  after  all  the  clianges  that  hfe  had  brought 
she  was  content.  No  one  could  doubt  that.  An<l  Gi-acnie 
asked  herself,  Avould  it  ever  be  so  with  her?  "Would  slie  ever 
cease  to  vegi'ct  the  irrevocaldo  past,  and  learn  to  grow  hapjiy 
in  a  new  way  ?  She  ]n'ayed  that  it  might  be  so.  Slu^  longed 
for  the  tranquil  content  of  those  old  days  bufort;  licr  heart 


'  i 


3S1 


JANKT  S    LON'E    AXD    6EUVICE. 


wttH  startled  fiDin  its  pirlliood's  f[uif't.  How  lon^  it  sccmod 
Kinco  slio  hiul  1)0(11  quite  at  peace  with  herself!  Would  she 
ever  be  so  aj^'ain  ?  It  did  not  seciu  possible.  She  tried  in 
vain  to  fancy  herself  ainon;^  other  scenes,  Avith  olher  liopes, 
and  friends,  and  interests.  And  yet,  here  wa?^  T.aiet,  not  of 
ali^'ht  oi*  chaiif^'efnl  nature  ;  how  she  had  loved,  and  lost,  and 
Hutl'ered  !  And  yet  she  had  f^rown  content  ? 

"  W'liiit  are  you  thiiikiii;^'  about,  Gi'aemo  ?"  said  Will.,  who, 
as  well  as  ^Iv.  Snow,  had  1)een  watching  her  troubled  face. 
(Iraenie  started. 

"Oh!  of  a  ^'reafc  many  things.  I  don't  know  why  it 
should  have  come  to  my  mind  just  now,  but  I  was  thinking 
of  a  day  in  ]\[erleville,  lonj^  a,<^o — an  Indian-summer  day.  I 
remember  walking  about  among  the  fallen  leaves,  and  look- 
ing over  the  pond  to  the  hills  beyond,  wcnidering  foolishly,  I 
suppose,  al)out  what  the  futm'o  might  bring  to  us  all.  How 
lovolv  it  was  that  dav  I" 

"  And  then  you  came  and  stood  within  the  gate,  and  hard- 
ly gave  mo  a  look  as  I  passed  out.  I  mind  it,  very  well," 
said  !Mr.  Snow. 

"  I  was  not  friends  with  you  that  daj-.  But  how  should 
you  remember  it  ?  How  should  you  know  it  was  that  day, 
of  which  I  was  thinking  V" 

'•  I  saw,  by  j'our  face,  you  were  thinking  of  old  times,  and 
of  all  the  changes  that  had  come  to  you  and  yours  ;  and  it 
was  on  tliat  day  you  first  heard  of  one  of  them.  That  is 
how  I  came  to  think  of  it." 

"  And  then  you  came  into  the  house,  and  called  me  from 
the  foot  of  the  stairs.  You  we^.a  well  pleased  with  me, 
either,  that  day,"  said  IVIi-s.  Snow. 

"  Oh  !  I  was  afraiil ;  and  yon  sjDoke  to  me  of  aunt  Marian, 
and  of  our  own  jMenie,  and  how  there  wight  be  sadder 
elianges  tlian  even  your  going  away.  All,  me!  I  don't  think 
I  have  been  quite  at  peace  with  myself  since  that  night." 

"  jNIiss  Graeme  1  my  dear,"  expostulated  IVIrs.  Snow. 

"  No,  I  have  aye  been  afi'aid  to  find  myself  at  peace.  But 
I  am  glad  of  one  thing,  though  I  did  not  "think  that  day  it 


JAM;1  ,S    U)VK    AM)    hKKVICi;. 


asrj 


I 


Inau, 
Iclder 


But 

ly  it 


would  ever  iiuikc  me  {^fliul.  Uncle  Sampson,  did  I  ever  tell 
yon — I  Hill  iifijiid  I  ni'vi-r  did — liow  <^hu\  1  am  now,  that  yoii 
woi'o  Htron^tT  than  I  was,  and  priivaik'd — in  taking'  Janet 
fi'om  us,  I  mean?" 

Sho  was  standing-  hchind  him,  hO  that  ho  did  not  hoc  her 
face,  lie  did  not  turn  round,  or  tiy  to  sec  it.  lie  hooked 
towards  his  wife,  with  a  j^n-avc  smile. 

"I  don't  think  you  ever  told  mo  in  words." 

"No,  because  it  is  only  a  little  while  that  I  have  been  really 
gl;id  ;  it  is  only  shice  your  coming'  has  made;  mo  sure  sho  is 
h;ippi(>r — far  ha^jpier  with  you,  and  Emily  and  Sandy,  than 
ever  wo  could  make  her  now;  almost  as  happy  as  .she  deserves 
to  be." 

"  I  reckon,  the  hap[)iness  ain't  all  o:  <  no  side  of  the  house, 
by  a  great  deal,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  gravely. 

"  No,  I  know  that — I  am  sure  »  f  that.  And  I  am  glad — 
so  glad,  that  it  rccouLilcs  mo  to  liic  ki'owjcdgc  that  wo  can 
never  be  quite  the  same  to  her  as  wc  uiii'd  to  be,  and  that  is 
saying  luuch." 

'SVin't  you  most  afraid  that  it  might  hart  her  to  hear  yo;i 
say  so  ?"  said  Mr,  Snow,  his  eyes  never  leaving  his  w  ife's  face. 
They  were  quite  alone  by  this  time.  "Will,  had  obeyed  tlio 
call  of  the  childi'cn,  and  was  gone  away. 

"No,  I  am  not  afraid.  She  knows  1  would  not  hurt  Icr 
willingly,  by  word  or  deed,  so  you  must  lot  me  say  how  v.-ry 
glad  I  am  we  lost  her,  for  her  sake.  And  when  1  remem'  r 
all  that  she  has  lived  through — all  tho  sorrow  she  has  sc  u  ; 
knowing  her  steadfast,  loving  heart,  and  how  little  she  is 
given  to  change,  yet  seemg  hor  happy,  and  with  jjowcr  to 
make  others  happy,  it  gives  me  courage  to  look  into  tho 
futui'o  ;  it  makes  me  l(>ss  afraid." 

His  eyes  left  his  wife's  face  now,  andiunicd,  with  a  look  of 
wonder,  to  Graeme. 

"  AVhat  is  it,  dear?"  he  asktd.  "  Is  there  anythhig  I  may 
not  know  ?" 

"No.     Only  I  am  glad  for  Janet's  sake,  and  for  yours, 

and  for  mine,  too,  becauisn " 

17 


386 


JANKTH    LOVK    AND    SERVICK. 


'  mS^ '  ' 

I^Hjf : 

Wm  ^^ 

m 

wmm  '■ 

It  woiild  not  have  boon  easy  to  say  more,  and,  l)C'sitlos,  the 
others  were  coming  up  tlio  wallc,  and,  partly  bocauso  tlioro 
were  teara  in  lior  oycs,  and  partly  bocauso  slio'slirunk  ner- 
vously fi'oni  the  excessive  friendliness  ■with  which  it  seemed 
to  be  Mrs.  Grove's  intentit)U  on  tho  occasion  to  distinf^uish 
licr,  she  turned,  hopin^if  to  escape.  She  did  not  succeed,  how- 
ever, and  stood  still  at  the  door,  knowinjjf  very  well  what 
would  bo  Mrs.  (trove's  first  remark. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  havo  an  eve  for  the  beautiful." 

She  had  heard  her  say  it  just  as  many  times  as  she  had 
stood  with  her  on  that  very  beautiful  spot ;  and  she  never 
expected  to  stand  there  without  hearin«j^  it,  certahily  not  if, 
as  on  tho  present  occasion,  there  were  strangers  there  too. 
It  was  varied  a  little,  this  time. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Green,  Miss  Elliott  has  an  eye  for  the  lioau- 
tiful.     I  knew  wo  sliould  find  her  here,  with  her  friends." 

The  rest  was  as  usual. 

"Observe  how  entirely  different  this  is,  from  all  the  other 
views  about  the  place.  There  is  not  a  glimpse  of  the  river, 
or  of  the  mountains,  except  tliat  IjIuc  line  of  hills,  very  dis- 
tant indeed.  The  scene  is  ({uito  a  pastoral  one,  you  see.  Can 
you  imagine  anything  more  tran(iuil  ?  It  seems  the  very  do- 
main of  silence  and  repose." 

The  last  remark  was  not  so  efiectivo  as  usual,  because  of 
the  noise  made  by  Charlie  IMiUar  and  Will.,  and  the  young 
Groves,  as  they  ran  along  the  broad  walk  full  in  sight. 

"  It  is  a  bonny,  quiet  place,"  said  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  The  garden  is  not  soon  at  its  best  now,"  continued  IMrs. 
Grove.  "  The  beauty  of  the  spring  flowers  is  over,  and  except 
the  roses,  wo  have  not  mar^y  simimcr  flowers  ;  wc  make  a  bet- 
ter show  later  in  the  season." 

"It  looks  lu'st-rate,"  said  Mr.  Snow. 

'•  It  costa  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  expense  to  keep  it 
lip  as  it  ought  to  bo  kej^t,"  continued  ]Mrs.  Grove.  "  I  some- 
times think  it  is  not  right  to  spend  so  nnich  time  and  money 
for  what  is  a  mere  gratification  to  the  eye." 

Mrs.  Grove  was  bent  on  being  agreeable  to  all  present,  and 


I 


JANETS   LOVK    AND   8?:iiVICE. 


387 


,bct. 


p  it 

)me- 

hnoy 


a: 


ad 


she  tliouf^lit  "  the  economical  doilgc  "  was  as  good  as  any,  con- 
sidoring  her  audience. 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  meditative- 
ly ;  "  bnt  a  place  hke  this  ought  to  bo  a  great  deal  nion;  than 
that,  I  think." 

"  Oh !  I  exi)ect  it  pays,"  said  Mr.  Green.  "  To  people  who 
arc  fond  of  such  things,  I  expect  there  is  more  pleasure  to 
be  got  for  the  same  money  from  a  garden  than  from  'most 
any  other  thing." 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  given  to  other  folk — to 
one's  friends,"  suggested  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  I  was  caknilating  that,  too,"  said  ^Ir.  Green.  "  Tlie  pleas- 
ure one's  friends  get  tells  on  one's  own  comfort  ;  you  feel 
better  yom'self,  if  the  folks  about  you  feel  well,  especially  if 
you  have  the  doing  of  it.     That  pays.'* 

"If  we  are  trav^iUng  in  the  right  road,  the  more  we  see 
of  the  beautiful  things  God  has  made,  the  ])etter  and  the 
happier  we  will  be,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "  It  will  pay  in  that  way, 
I  guess." 

He  turnetl  an  inquiiing  look  on  ]Mr.  Green,  as  he  spoke, 
but  that  gentleman,  probably  not  being  prepared  to  speak 
advisedly  on  the  subject,  neither  agreed  nor  dissented,  and 
his  eyes  travelled  on  till  they  rested  on  the  face  of  his  wife. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  softly,  "the  more  we  see  of  God's  love 
and  wisdom  in  the  beautiful  things  He  has  made,  the  more 
we  shall  love  Him,  and  in  loving  Him  wo  shall  gi'ow  like  Him." 

IMr.  Snow  nodded.  Mr.  Green  looked  curiously  fi-om  one 
to  the  other  as  they  spoke. 

"  I  suppose  we  may  expect  something  wonderful  in  the  way 
of  gardens  and  pleasm-e-gixuinds,  when  you  ha^■o  completed 
your  place,  3Ir.  Green,"  said  Mrs.  Grove,  Mho  did  not  care 
that  the  conversation  should  take  a  serious  turn  on  this  oc- 
casion. She  tlatterod  herself  that  slie  had  ah'eady  won  the 
coniidence  and  admiration  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Snow,  In*  her 
wannly-expressed  sympathy  with  their  "rather  ])ei'uliar" 
views  and  opinions.  Whether  3Ir.  Green  would  be  su  fortu- 
nate was  questionable,  so  she  went  on  quickly. 


388 


JANET'S    LOVE  AND   SKRVICE. 


"  Miss  Elliott,  Mr.  Green  has  bcoii  tcllinj^-  me  about  his 
place  as  avo  came  up  the  garden.  It  must  be  very  lovely, 
standing,  as  it  does,  on  the  borders  of  one  of  those  vast 
prames  that  we  all  admire." 

Tlius  appealed  to,  it  was  unpardonable  in  Graeme  that  she 
should  rcsj)ond  to  the  lady's  admiidng  enthusiasm  with  only 
the  doubtful  assent  implied  in  a  hesitating  "  Indeed  ;"  but 
her  enthusiasm  was  not  to  be  damped. 

"  There  must  bo  something  grand  and  elevating  in  the  con- 
stant view  of  a  j)rau'ie.  It  must  tend  to  enlarge  one's  ideas, 
and  satisfy  one  ;  don't  you  think  so,  3Iiss  Elliott  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Graeme,  hesitatingly.  "For  a  place 
of  residence,  I  should  suppose  it  might  be  a  little  dull  and 
unvaried." 

"  Of  coui'se,  if  there  Avas  nothing  besides  the  prairie  ;  but 
with  such  a  residence  as  Mr.  Green's — I  forget  what  style  of 
architecture  it  is." 

But  Mr.  Green  was  not  learned  on  the  subject  of  architec- 
ture, and  said  nothing  about  it.  He  only  knew  that  people 
called  his  house  a  very  handsome  one,  and  that  it  had  cost 
him  a  deal  of  money,  and  he  said  so,  emphatically,  adding 
his  serious  doubts  whether  the  investment  would  "pay." 

"  Oh  !  you  cannot  tell  yet,"  said  IMrs.  Grove.  "That  will 
depend  altogether  on  circumstances.  It  is  quite  time  that 
you  were  settling  down  into  a  quiet  family  man.  You  have 
been  roaming  about  the  world  quite  long  enough.  I  don't 
at  al  approve  of  the  European  trip,  unless,  indeed — " 

She  paused,  and  looked  so  exceedingly  arch  and  wise,  that 
Mr.  Green  looked  a  Httle  puzzled  and  fooUsh  by  contrast,  per- 
haps. 

"  Miss  EUiott,"  continued  Mrs.  Grove,  bent  on  carrying  out 
her  laudable  intention  of  drawing  Graeme  into  the  conversa- 
ti<m,  "have  you  quite  decided  on  not  accompanying  your 
brother?" 

"  Accompanying  Will.  ?  Oh !  I  have  never  for  a  moment 
thought  of  such  a  thing.     Tlie  expense  v>'ould  put  it  quite  out 


I 


m. 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AND   SEUVICf. 


389 


Ig 


at  will 
that 
liavG 
don't 

that 
per- 


1  <^  out 


of  tlie  question,  even  if  there  were  no  other  reasons  against 
it." 

"  Indeed,  then  I  must  have  inisunderstootl  you  when  I  fan- 
cied I  hoard  you  say  how  much  you  W(juld  like  to  go.  I 
thought  vou  longed  for  a  chance  to  see  Scotland  again." 

"  I  daresay  you  heard  me  say  something  of  the  kind.  I 
should  like  to  visit  Scotland  very  much,  and  other  countries, 
too.  And  I  mtend  to  do  so  when  I  have  made  my  fortune," 
added  she,  laughing. 

"  Or,  when  some  one  has  made  it  for  you  ;  that  would  do 
as  well,  would  it  not  ?"  asked  ]Mrs.  Grove. 

"  Oh,  yes !  a  great  deal  better.  AVhen  some  one  makes 
my  fortune  for  uic,  I  shall  visit  Europe.  I  think  I  may  prom- 
ise that." 

"Have  you  ever  been  \Vest,  yet.  Miss  Elliott  ?  You  si)oko 
of  going  at  one  time,  I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Green. 

"  Never  yet.  All  my  travcUing  has  been  done  at  the  fire- 
side. I  have  very  nmch  wisheil  to  visit  my  brother  Nonuan. 
I  daresay  Rose  and  I  will  find  oiu'sclves  there  some  day," 
added  she,  turning  to  ]Mr.  Snow. 

"  Unless  we  keep  you  in  Merlcville,"  said  he,  smihng. 

"  Oh !  well,  I  am  very  willing  to  bo  kept  there  on  certain 
conihtions  you  know." 

"  How  do  you  suppose  Fanny  could  ever  do  without  you  ?" 
asked  INIrs.  Grove,  reproachfully. 

"  Oh !  she  would  miss  us,  I  dare.sav.  But  I  don't  think  we 
are  absolutely  necessary  to  her  happiness." 

''  Of  coiu'se,  she  will  have  to  lose  you  one  of  these  days. 
"NVe  cannot  expect  that  you  will  devote  yourself  to  youi*  bro- 
thers always,  I  know." 

"  Especially  as  they  don't  stand  in  particular  need  of  my 
devotion,"  said  Graeme,  stiiHy,  as  slie  ollered  her  arm  to 
Mrs.  Snow.  "  Let  us  walk  agaui.  ^Vh!lt  can  ^Vill.  and  the 
childi'cn  be  doing?  Something  extraordinary,  if  one  may 
judge  by  the  noifse." 

]Mi*s.  Grove  rose  to  go  with  them,  but  lingered  a  moment 


300 


J  AN  I. T  a    I/)VK   AND   SKKVICK 


bcliind  to  romavk  to  Mr.  Snow  on  <ho  (>xcro(liiif,'  lovolinpss  of 
iNIiss  I'jllioU's  disposition  jiiul  dianictcr,  lici*  f^Tcut  suprricnity 
to  yonn«^lii(lii's  in  {j^oneiiil,  and  cspocially  on  tlio  <lovotioii  so 
apparent  in  all  hor  iiitorcourso  with  liorold  friend. 

"  And  with  you,  too,"  slic  added  ;  "  I  Rcarccly  can  say 
which  she  honors  most,  or  on  which  she  most  rcHes  for  coun- 
sel." 

"T]uTo,"said  she  to  herself,  as  she  followed  the  otliers 
down  the  walk,  "I  havcfj^iven  him  an  oivniin**-,  if  ho  only  has 
the  sense  to  use  it.  One  can  see  what  he  wonts  easil}'^ 
euoufjfh,  and  if  he  Iniows  what  is  forhisadvantaj^o  howillj^et 
the  good  word  of  his  countryman,  and  he  ought  to  thank  me 
for  the  chance." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 


WHY  iMrs.  (irovc  tlionj^rlit  Mr.  Green  might  need  an 
openiiifT  f„r  unytliing  ho  had  to  say  to  Mr.  Snow  did 
not  i4)i)(!ar,  hh  ho  did  not  avail  himself  of  it.  It  was  Mr. 
Snow  who  spoke  first,  after  a  sliort  silence. 

"  ( Joing  to  ^,nve  up  Imsiness  and  settle  down.     Eh  ?" 

"  I  have  tlioiight  of  it.  I  d(^n't  l)encve  I  should  enjoy  life 
half  as  well  if  I  (hd,  however." 

"How  niueh  do  you  enjoy  it  now  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Snow. 

"Well,  not  a  great  deal,  that  is  a  fact ;  but  as  well  as  folks 
generiUly  do,  I  reclcoii.  But,  after  all,  I  do  believe  to  keep 
hard  to  work  is  about  as  good  a  way  as  any  to  take  comfort 
in  the  world." 

Mr.  Green  took  a  manj-bladed  knife  fi-oni  his  pocket,  and 
plucking  a  twig  from  the  root  of  a  yoiuig  cedar,  began 
fashioning  it  uito  an  instrument  slender  and  smooth. 

"  That  is  about  the  conclusion  I  have  come  to,"  repeated 
he  ;  "  and  I  ex^x-ct  I  will  have  to  keep  to  work  if  I  mean  to 
get  the  good  of  life." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  kinds  of  work  to  bo  done  in  the 
world,"  suggested  Mr.  Snow. 

Mr.  Green  gave  him  a  glance  cui'ious  and  inquiring. 

"  ^Vd\,  I  suppose  there  ai'c  a  good  many  ways  of  workijig 
in  the  world,  but  it  all  comes  to  t  no  same  tlnng  pretty  nuich, 
I  guess.  Folks  work  to  get  a  living,  and  then  +o  accuiiiulate 
property.  Some  do  it  in  a  large  way,  and  some  in  a  small 
way,  but  the  end  is  the  same." 

"  Suppose  you  should  go  to  work  to  spend  your  money 
now  ?"  suggested  :\Iv.  Snow,  again. 

"  Well,  I  've  dono  a  httlo  in  that  way,  too,  and  I  have 
(391) 


JANKT  H    LoVF,    AM)   HKUVIOF. 


■I 


nboul,  <'(>in(>  (()  llio  ('oiu'lnsion  iliut  lliat  don't,  \y,i\  Jis  well  us 
llic  iiiiilviii;;-  of  il,  us  I'.ir  us  the  coiiifori  it  {'ivos.  1  iilii'l.  U 
\vy\  licli  niiiii.  no{  near  so  rich  ms  folks  lliiiik  ;  Imi  1  Ii;ul  ;;'ot 
il  kind  of  side  of  doiii;^"  Ihc  s.imc  lliiii;;'  all  the  lime,  .'Uitl  so 
1  lliou^lii  I  would  liy  Koiiu!(liiii<.j  clsi'  u  spell.  So  1  vatlicr 
drew  uj),  ihoiii;h  I  ain't  out  of  Ixisincss  vot,  hy  a  {^niat  (I(>id. 
1  (lioimhi  1  would  Irv  and  sro  il'  I  fould  niak(!  a  lionu',  so  I 
built.  J>ut  a  house  ain't  a  home; — not  l>y  a  ;^^reat  si;^ht.  I 
have  >^oi  as  hand.sonio  a.  place  as  anybody  uccmI  wish  to  have, 
but  I  w<.)uld  ratlu  r  Uvt;  in  a  hotel  any  day  than  have  tho 
bother  of  it.  I  don't  move  than  half  l)ehevo  I  hIuiU  ever  livo 
there  lou^  at  a  time." 

He  paused,  and  whittled  with  <}jreat  earnestnesH. 

"It  seems  a  kind  of  aiij^ravatin<jf,  now,  don't  it,  when  a 
man  has  worked  hard  half  his  life  and  more  to  make  i;rop- 
crty,  that  he  should  n't  Ix^  able  to  enjoy  it  wh(>n  he  haa 
got  it." 

"  What  do  you  su[)pos(!  is  tlie  reason  V"  asked  INIi'.  Smnv, 
pfravely,  but  with  r;iih(>r  a  preo(H'upied  air.  He  Avaa  wonder- 
ing ho ^Y  it  was  that  jMr.  (Ireen  should  have  been  betrayed 
into  giving  his  tli'cary  conlidenees  to  a  comparative  stranger. 

"AVell,  I  don't  know,"  replied  j\lr.  (Ireen,  nreditatively. 
"  I  suppose,  for  one  thing,  I  have  been  so  long  in  the  mill 
that  I  o:in't  get  out  of  tlu^  old  jog  easily,  I  should  have 
b<\gun  st)oner,  or  have  taken  work  and  pleasure  by  turns  as  I 
went  ah>ng.  I  don't  take  much  comfort  ui  what  seems  to 
please  most  folks." 

There  Avas  a  pause  ;  IMr.  Sik)w  had  nothing  to  say  in  reply, 
however,  and  in  a  little  ]\lr.  Green  went  on : 

"  I  have  n't  any  very  near  relations  ;  cousins  and  cousin's 
children  are  the  neare-^.  I  have  helped  them  some,  and 
would  rather  do  it  than  iu)t,  and  tliey  arc  willing  enough  to 
be  helped,  but  they  don't  seem  very  near  to  me.  I  enjoy 
well  enough  gomg  ti)  sec  them  once  in  a  while,  but  it  don't 
amoimt  to  much  all  they  care  abi)ut  me  ;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  it  ain't  much  I  care  about  them.  If  I  had  a  family 
of  my  own,  it  would  be  diirereut.     Women  folks  and  young 


Iisin  s 
jiiul 
:^h  to 
|itjoy 
llou't 
tho 
liiiily 
Vuig 


JANirrs  i.ovi;  and  HKitvici-: 


39a 


follvH  enjoy  spcjidiii;^'  iiioiicy,  jukI  I  siipposf^  T  woiiM  liiivo 
enjoyed  Hceiiif^'  IIk-mi  do  it.  lint  1  Ii;iv<!  ulxuil  coiik!  io  llie. 
conclusion  ili.'it  I  Hliould  luivo  hccu  to  tluit  lon;^'  'W-' 

WilliiMit  moving'  or  tiiniin;.,'  IiIh  lie.'id,  Ik;  ^'iiv(!  IiIh  new 
fricnid  !i  look  out  of  the  corner  (jf  his  (yes  that  it  nii^^'ht  luivo 
Kurpriscd  liiiu  11  little  to  sec  ;  but  Mr.  Snow  saw  nothinj^  at 
the  nionK-nt.  To  wonder  as  to  why  thi.s  lUiW  uc(|uaintance 
hIiouM  hestow  his  con(id(!n<!o  on  him,  was  KUC(teedinf^  a  f<'el- 
in<^'  of  pity  for  him — a  d(!sire  to  help  him — and  he  was  con- 
Hideiin^  the  propriety  of  iniprovin*^  the  oi)portuni<y  given  to 
"dro])  a  Avord  in  neasfju  "  for  his  Ixsnelit.  Not  that  he  had 
much  confideiuH!  in  hin  own  slcill  at  this  H<n't  of  tliinf^.  It  i.s 
to  be  fear(!d  the  deacon  looked  on  this  way  of  witncHKin*^  for 
tlio  truth  as  a  cross  to  bo  bonu!  rather  than  as  a  i)rivile<,'c  to 
bo  enjoyed.  Ifo  was  readier  with  good  de(;ds  than  with  good 
words,  and  v/hile  Ik;  liesitated,  Mr.  (Jreen  went  on  : 

"  How  f</lks  can  hang  round  with  notiiing  particular  to  do 
is  what  I  can't  understand.  I  never  sluMild  get  used  to  it,  I 
know.  I  Vo  made  considerable  property,  and  J  expect  I  have 
enjoyed  the  maldng  more  than  I  ever  shall  (;njoy  the  spend- 
ing of  it." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  you  had,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  gravely. 

"  I  havAi  thought  of  going  right  slaj)  into  political  life.  I 
might  have  got  into  tho  Legislature,  time  and  again  ;  and  I 
don't  doubt  but  I  might  find  my  way  to  Congress  by  spend- 
ing something  handsome.  That  might  be  as  good  a  way  to 
let  off  the  steam  as  any.  AVhen  a  man  g<;ts  into  i)olitics,  he 
don't  seem  to  mind  nuich  else.  Ho  has  got  to  drive  right 
through.     I  don't  know  how  well  it  pays."' 

'*  In  tho  way  of  comfort,  I  'm  afraid  it  don  '/  pay,"  said  2ilr. 
Snow. 

"  I  expect  not.  I  don't  more  than  half  think  it  would  pay 
mc.  Politics  have  got  to  bo  consideral)ly  mixed  up  in  oui" 
country.  I  don't  believe  I  should  over  get  to  sec  my  way 
clciu'  to  go  all  '.^ngths  ;  and  I  don't  believe  it  would  amount 
to  anything  if  I  could.  Besides,  if  a  maii  expects  to  got  very 
far  along  in  tJiat  road,  In;  has  got  to  take  a  fail'  start  in  good 
17* 


394 


JANET  S   LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


II      I 


I*.'  ■ ; 


w 


t-\ 


season.  I  learned  to  read  and  cypher  in  the  old  log  school- 
house  at  home,  and  my  mother  taught  me  the  catechism  on 
Sunday  afternoons,  and  that  is  about  all  the  book-learning  I 
ever  got  I  should  n't  hardly  have  an  even  chance  with  some 
of  those  college-bred  chaps,  though  there  are  some  things  I 
know  as  well  as  the  best  of  them,  I  reckon.  Have  you  ever 
been  out  AVest?" 

"  I  was  there  once  a  good  many  years  ago.  I  had  a  gi*eat 
notion  of  going  to  settle  there  when  I  was  a  young  man.  I 
am  glad  I  did  n't,  though." 

"  Money  ain't  to  be  made  there  anything  h'ke  as  fast  as  it 
used  to  be,"  said  Mr.  Green.  "  But  there  is  chance  enough, 
if  a  man  has  a  head  for  it.  I  have  seen  some  cool  business 
done  there  at  one  time  and  another." 

The  chances  in  favor  of  INIr.  Snow's  "  word  in  season  " 
were  becoming  fewer,  he  saw  plainly,  as  IVIr.  Green  wai^jlered 
off  from  his  dissatisfaction  to  the  varied  remembrances  of  his 
busmess-life  ;  so,  with  a  great  effort,  he  said : 

"Ain't  it  just  possible  that  your  property  and  the  spending 
of  it  don't  satisfy  you  because  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  such 
things  to  give  satisfaction  ?  " 

Mr.  Green  turned  and  looked  earnestly  at  him. 

"  Well,  I  have  heard  so,  but  I  never  beheved  it  any  moro 
for  hearing  it  said.  The  folks  that  say  it  oftenest  don't  act  as 
if  they  belioved  it  themselves.  They  try  as  hard  for  it  as 
any  one  else,  if  they  are  to  be  judged  by  their  actions.  It  is 
all  right  to  say  they  believe  it,  I  suppose,  because  it  is  in  the 
Bible,  or  something  like  it  is." 

"  And  you  beheve  it,  not  because  it  is  in  the  Bible,  but  be- 
cause you  are  learning,  by  your  own  experience,  every  day 
you  Uve." 

Mr.  Green  whistled. 

"Come,  now;  ain't  that  going  it  a  little  too  strong?  I 
never  said  I  didn't  expect  to  enjoy  my  property.  I  en- 
joy it  now,  after  a  fashion.  If  a  man  ain't  going  to  enjoy 
his  property,  what  is  he  to  enjoy  ?  " 

"All  that  some  people  enjoy  is  the  making  of  it.    You 


JANETS    LOVi:   AND   SERVICK. 


395 


have  clone  that,  you  say.  There  is  less  pleasure  to  bo  got 
from  wctilth,  vxen  in  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  than 
those  who  have  n't  got  it  believe.  They  who  have  it  tincl  that 
out,  as  you  are  doing. 

"  But  I  can  fancy  myself  getting  aU  the  i)leasm*e  1  want  out 
of  my  property,  if  only  some  tilings  were  ditrerent — if  I  had 
something  else  to  go  with  it.  Other  folks  seem  to  take  the 
comfort  out  of  theirs  as  they  go  along," 

"  They  seem  to  ;  but  how  can  you  be  sure  as  to  the  enjoy- 
ment they  really  have  ?  How  many  of  your  fiiends,  do  you 
suppose,  suspect  that  you  don't  get  all  the  satisfaction  out 
of  yoiu's  that  you  seem  to  ?  Do  you  suppose  the  lady  who 
was  saying  so  much  in  praise  of  your  fine  place  just  now,  has 
any  idea  that  it  is  only  a  weariness  to  you  ?" 

"  I  was  telUng  her  so  as  we  came  along.  She  says  the  rea- 
son I  don't  enjoy  it  is  because  there  is  something  else  that  I 
haven't  got,  that  ought  to  go  along  with  it ;  and  I  agreed 
with  her  there," 

Again  a  furtive  glance  was  sent  towards  iSIr.  Snow's 
thoughtful  face.     He  smiled  and  shook  his  head, 

"  Yes,  it  is  something  else  you  want.  It  is  always  somo- 
thhig  else,  and  ever  wiU  be  till  the  end  comes.  That  somc- 
thuig  else,  if  it  is  ever  yours,  \\ill  bring  disappointment  with 
it.  It  will  come  as  you  don't  expect  it  or  want  it,  or  it  will 
come  too  late.  There  is  no  good  talking.  There  is  notliing 
in  the  world  that  it  will  do  to  make  a  portion  of." 

Mr.  Green  looked  up  at  liim  with  some  curiosity  and  sur- 
prise. This  souiided  very  much  hke  what  ho  used  to  hear  in 
conference  niceting  long  ago,  but  he  had  an  idea  that  such 
remarks  were  inappro]jriate  out  of  meeting,  and  ho  wondered 
a  little  what  could  be  Mr.  Snow'^!  motive  for  speaking  in  that 
way  just  then. 

"As  to  making  a  portion  of  it,  I  don't  know  about  that ; 
but  I  do  kncjw  that  there  is  considerable  to  be  got  out  of 
money.  What  can't  it  get?  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  what 
can  bo  got  ^\ithout  it  ?  I  don't  say  that  they  who  have  the 
most  of  it  are  always  best  off,  because  oth(>r  things  como  in 


It 


300 


.TANirr  S    LOVE    AND    SEIiVICE. 


to  woiTv  tli^rn,  mfiybo  ;  Init  tlio  clianccs  are  in  fiiv^r  of  tlio 
man  thut  lias  all  Ik;  wants  to  spoiul.    You'll  novcr  dony  that." 

"That  ain't  jnst  tlio  way  I  would  put  it,"  said  ^Ir.  Snow, 
"I  woul<l  Kay  tliat  tlio  man  who  expects  his  property  to  niako 
him  lia])py,  will  Ikj  disappointed.  The  amount  ho  has  got 
don't  matter.  It  ain't  in  it  to  give  happiness.  I  know,  partly 
beeauso  I  have  tried,  and  it  has  failed  me,  and  partly  beoauso 
I  am  told  that  "  a  man's  life  consistcth  not  in  the  abundance 
of  the  thing;-;  that  he  posscsseth." 

"  AVell,  now,  if  that  is  so,  will  you  tell  mo  why  there  ain't 
one  man  in  ten  thousand  who  believes  it,  or  at  least  who  acts 
as  if  he  believed  it  ?  "Wliy  is  all  the  world  chasing  after  wealth, 
as  if  it  were  the  one  thing  for  body  and  soul  ?  If  money  ain't 
worth  having,  why  hasn't  somebody  found  it  out,  and  set  the 
world  right  about  it  l^efore  now  ?" 

"As  to  money  not  being  worth  the  having,  I  never  said, 
that,  "\Miat  I  sav  is,  that  God  never  meant  that  mere  wealth 
should  make  a  man  happy.  Tliat  has  been  found  out  times 
without  numV>er  ;  but  as  to  setting  the  world  right  about  it, 
I  expect  that  is  one  of  the  things  that  each  man  must  loam 
by  experience.  Most  folks  do  leani  it  after  awhile,  in  ouo 
way  or  other," 

"  Well,"  said  ^Ir,  Green,  gravely,  "  you  look  as  if  you  be- 
lieved what  you  say,  and  you  look  as  if  3'ou  enjoyed  life  pretty 
well,  too.  If  it  ain't  your  property  that  makes  you  happy, 
what  is  it  V"' 

"  It  ain't  my  iiropciiy,  mrtain,"  said  ]\Ir.  Snow,  with  em- 
phasis. "  I  know  I  should  n't  bo  any  happier  if  I  had  twice  as 
much.  And  I  am  sure  I  shouldn't  be  less  happy  if  I  hadn't 
half  as  much  ;  my  happiness  rests  on  a  surer  foundation  than 
anything  I  have  got" 

He  paused,  casting  about  in  his  thoughts  for  just  tlio  right 
word  to  say — something  that  might  be  as  "  a  fire  and  a  ham- 
mer" to  the  softening  and  breaking  of  that  world-hardened 
heai-t. 

"  He  doe.'i  look  as  if  he  believed  what  he  was  sajdng,"  Mr. 
Greeji  was  thinking  to  himself,    "  It  is  just  possible  he  might 


JANET  S    LOVK   ANO    SERVfCE. 


307 


' 


givo  mo  a  liint.    Ho  don't  look  like  a  man  who  ilon't  priictiso 
as  lu)  in-eaclics."     Aloiul,  li(3  said, 

"Conic,  now, '^•o  ahead.  AVhat  has  cured  oiu^,  ni:iy  help 
anotlior,  you  know,  (live  ns  j-onr  idea  as  to  what  is  a  suro 
foundation  for  a  man's  lia2)piness." 

Mr.  Snow  looked  ffravely  into  his  face  and  said, 
"Blessed  is  the  man  who  feareth  the  Lord." 
"Blessed  is  the  man  whose  trust  the  Lord  is." 
"  Blessed  is  the  man  whoso  transgi'ossion  is  forf^dvcn,  whoso 
Bin  is  covered." 

"  Blessed  is  the  man  to  whom  the  Lord  imputcth  not  in- 
icpiity,  in  whose  sjiirit  there  is  no  giiilo." 

]Mr.  Green's  eye  fell  before  his  earnest  g'aze.  It  camo  into 
his  mind  that  if  there  was  happiness  to  bo  found  in  the  world, 
this  man  had  fomid  it.  But  it  seemed  a  hai)piness  very  far 
awaj'  from  him — quite  beyond  his  reach — Homethinjf  that  it 
Would  1)0  impossible  for  him  ever  to  find  now.  The  sound 
of  his  mother's  voiie,  softly  breaking  the  stillness  of  n  Sab- 
bath afternoon,  with  some  such  words  as  tliese,  camo  back  to 
him,  and  just  for  a  moment  he  realized  their  unchangeable 
tnith,  and  for  that  moment  ho  know  that  his  life  had  been  a 
failure.  A  pang  of  regiet,  a  longing  for  an(ither  chance,  and 
a  sense  of  the  vanity  of  such  a  wish,  smote  on  his  heart  for 
an  instant  and  then  passed  away.  Ho  rose  from  his  seat, 
and  moved  a  few  paces  down  the  walk,  and  when  ho  camo 
back  ho  did  not  sit  down  again.  His  cedar  twig  was  smoothed 
down  at  both  ends  to  the  finest  possible  jooint,  and  after  l^al- 
ancing  it  for  a  minute  on  his  foretingers,  he  tossed  it  over  his 
shoulder,  and  shutting  his  knife  -with  a  click,  put  it  in  nis 
pocket  before  ho  spoke. 

"  "Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  am  much  better  off  for  that," 
said  he,  discontentedly.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  ought 
to  gi^t  religion.  That  is  no  new  idea.  I  have  heard  Uial  eveiy 
time  I  have  gone  to  meeting  for  the  last  thirty  years,  which 
hasn't  been  as  often  as  it  might  have  been,  but  it  has  been 
often  enough  for  all  the  good  it  has  done  me." 

Ho  looked  at  Mr.  Snow  as  if  ho  expected  him  to  make  some 


V 


I 


•Ji     r 


!  ( -.^ 


398 


JANKT  S    I.OVK   A>:i)   SKRVICE. 


Rort  of  a  voply,  l)ut  ho  was  silont.  ]Io  w.-is  thiiiUinff  how 
vain  iiiiv  words  ol"  his  wouhl  bo  to  coiiviiicc  liiiii,  or  io  show 
liiiii  11  moro  (!X('(H(Mit  wny.  JI(!  was  thuikiii;,'  of  tho  old  tiinc^, 
and  of  (lio  talk  wasted  on  him  by  th(!  {^'•ood  pcoplo  who  would 
fain  have  hcl[)cd  huii.     At  last  ho  said,  j;;rav('ly  : 

"It  wouhl  n't  amount  to  much,  all  I  could  say  lo  yon,  ovoii 
if  I  was  <^M)od  !it  talkin;j;,  wliich  I  aui't.  I  can  only  tell  you 
that  I  novel-  know  what  it  was  to  \w  satisliod  till  I  j^'ot  roli^'- 
ion,  and  I  havo  never  been  discontented  since,  and  I  don't 
boli(>vo  I  (!ver  shall  a;,'aiu,  let  what  will  happen  to  mo." 

H(!  i)aused  a  moment,  and  added, 

"  I  don't  supp(JHo  anythinj^  I  could  say  would  help  you  to 
sec  things  as  I  wish  you  did,  if  I  were  to  talk  all  nij^ht.  Talk 
always  falls  short  of  Iho  mark,  unless  tho  heart  is  prepared 
for  it,  and  then  tho  sinjiilest  word  is  enough.  Thoro  aro 
none  bettor  than  the  words  I  gave  you  a  uiinulo  ago  ;  and 
when  everything  in  tho  Avorld  seems  to  bo  faiUng  you,  just 
you  try  what  trust  in  tho  Lord  will  do." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  'J'ho  sound  of  approaching  foot- 
steps warn(Hl  thom  that  they  \\crc  no  longer  alone,  and  in  a 
little  jVIrs.  Elliott  and  lloso  wore  scon  coming  up  the  walk,  fol- 
lowed by  Arthur  and  Caittain  Starr.  They  were  discussuig 
something  that  interested  thciu  greatly,  and  their  merry 
voi('os  fell  pleasantly  on  the  ear.  Very  i)rotty  both  young 
ladies  looked,  crowned  with  tho  roses  they  had  been  weaving 
into  wr(\aths.  Tho  gi'ave  look  which  had  settled  on  Mv. 
Green's  face,  passed  away  as  ho  watched  their  approach. 

"Pretty  creatures,  both  of  them,"  remarked  ho.  "  Mrs.  El- 
liott appcai-s  well,  dont  she  ?  I  never  saw  any  one  improve 
so  much  as  she  has  done  in  the  last  two  years.  I  used  to 
think  her — well  not  voiy  superior." 

"  She  is  a  pretty  httle  thing,  and  '^-ood  tempered,  I  think," 
said  Mr.  Snow,  smihng.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  our  folks 
made  something  of  lior,  after  all.  She  is  in  belter  keeping 
than  she  used  to  be,  I  guess." 

"  She  used  to  be — well,  a  little  of  a  Hirt,  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve she  has  forgot  all  about  it  yat,"  said  Mr.  Green,  nod- 


.lANirr  a  i-ovi:  and  sicuvice. 


399 


aviiig 
]Mr. 


i.  El- 

irovo 

icd  to 


I't  bc- 
nod- 


ding  ill  (ho  direction  of  Cjiptain  Starr,  with  a  knowiiij^  look. 
Tho  possil)ility  of  a  luarricM]  woman's  anuiHin<^  hcr.sclf  in  tliat 
•way  was  not  anion;^  tho  nnhjccts  to  which  ^[r.  Snow  had 
^^iv(!n  his  attention,  so  ho  had  nothinij  to  say  in  reply. 

"And  tho  other  one — she  nndtrstands  a  little  of  it,  too,  I 

fpU'SM." 

"AMiat,  Kosie?  She  is  a  child.  (JraeiiK?  will  teach  her 
bettor  than  that.  She  despises  sneh  thinj^'s,"  said  Mv.  Snow, 
warmly . 

"  She  don't  flirt  any  herself,  does  she  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Green, 
coolly.     "  ^liss  Ellic^tt,  I  moan." 

Mr.  Snow  turned  on  him  astonished  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  understand  what  you  mean  by  flirting. 
I  always  supposed  it  was  si^mcthing  wrong,  or,  at  least,  some- 
thb'g  unbecoming  ui  any  A\oman,  married  or  single,  (jracnio 
aiii't  one  of  that  sort." 

IVIr.  Green  shniggod  his  shoulders  incnidulously. 

"Oh!  as  to  its  beuig' wrong,  and  so  forth,  I  don't  know. 
They  all  do  it,  I  guoss,  in  one  way  or  other.  I  don't  suppose 
Miss  Graeme  would  go  it  so  strong  as  that  little  woman,  but 
I  guess  she  knows  how." 

The  voice  of  Rose  prevented  Mr.  Snow's  indignant  reply. 

"  But,  iVrthur,  you  are  not  a  disinterested  judge.  Of  course 
you  woiild  admire  Fanny's  most,  and  as  for  Captain  Starr,  he 
is " 

"  He  is  like  the  ass  between  two  bundles  of  hay." 

"Nonsense,  Arthur.  Fanny,  let  ns  ask  Mr.  Snow,"  said 
Rose,  sprmging  forward,  and  slightly  bending  her  head. 
"  Now,  Uncle  Sampson,  which  is  prettiest  ?  I  '11  leave  the  de- 
cision to  you." 

"  Uncle  Sampson "  was  a'  very  pleasant  sound  in  ]Mr. 
Snow's  ears,  and  never  more  so,  than  when  it  came  from  tho 
lips  of  Rose,  and  it  was  v.'itli  a  loving  as  well  as  an  adraij'ing 
look  that  he  answered — 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  which  is  the  prettiest.  You  are  both  as 
pretty  as  you  need  to  be.  If  you  were  as  good  as  you  aro 
pretty ! " 


400 


JANKT  8   LOVE   AND   SKRVICf:. 


Lli 


"1 


n 


Rose  pouted,  impatient  of  the  lauglitor  A\liicli  tnis  speech 
excited. 

"  I  mean  our  wreaths.  Look,  mine  is  made  of  these  dear 
httlo  Scotch  roses,  with  hero  and  there  a  moss-rose  bud. 
Faniiy's,  you  see,  are  all  ojien  roses,  white  and  d:unask.  Now, 
which  is  the  prettiest  ?  " 

She  took  her  wreath  from  her  head  in  her  eagerness,  and 
held  it  up,  admiringl}'. 

"Yours  ain't  half  so  pretty  as  it  was  a  minute  ago.  I 
think,  now,  I  should  admire  IMrs.  EUiott's  most,"  said  Mr. 
Green,  gi-avely. 

They  both  curtesycd  to  Imn. 

"  You  see,  llosie,  Mr.  Green  has  decided  in  my  favor," 
said  Faimy,  triumphantly. 

"  Y''es,  but  not  in  favor  of  your  wreath.  The  others  thought 
the  same,  but  I  don't  mind  about  that.  It  is  om*  ^vl•eaths  I 
want  to  know  about.     Let  us  ask  Graeme." 

But  Graeme  did  not  come  alone.*  The  little  Groves  came 
with  her,  and  "Will,  and  Charlie  followed,  a  rather  noisy 
party.  The  little  girls  were  delighted,  and  danced  about, 
exclaiming  at  the  beauty  of  the  flowery  crowns  ;  and  in  a  lit- 
tle, j\Iiss  Victoria  was  weai'uig  that  of  Rose,  and  imitating 
the  au's  and  graces  of  her  elder  sister  in  a  way  that  must 
have  encoiu'aged  her  mother's  hopes  as  to  her  ultimate  suo 
cess  in  life.  The  other  begged  piteously  for  Fanny's,  but  she 
was  too  well  aware  of  its  charmmg  effect  on  her  own  head  to 
yield  at  once  to  her  entreaties,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  laugh- 
ing confusion,  that  accompanied  the  carrying  of  the  child's 
point,  Graeme  and  ]\Irs.  Snow,  who  confessed  herself  a  little 
tired  after  her  walk,  entered  the  sununer-house  again.  Mrs. 
Grove  and  Mr.  Prouilfute  entered  with  them,  and  the  others 
disposcid  themselves  in  groups  about  the  door.  Mr.  Green 
stood  leaning  on  the  door-jiost  looking  in  upon  them. 

"  ]\Iiss  Elliott,"  said  Mr.  Proudfute,  presently,  "  what  has 
become  of  you  for  a  long  time  ?  I  have  hardly  seen  j'ou  for 
years— for  a  year  at  least — and  we  used  to  meet  so  often." 
Graeme  laughed. 


I 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


401 


liilcVs 

littlo 

Mrs. 

thcrs 

ircen 

lias 
>ii  for 
ten." 


"  I  have  seen  you  a  gi'cat  inaiiv  times  Avitbiu  a  year.  I  am 
afraid  my  society  doesn't  make  the  im})ressi()ii  on  yon  it 
ought.  Have  you  for<^otteu  yom*  New  Year's  visit,  and  a  visit 
or  two  besides,  to  say  nothing  of  duuice  meetings  in  the 
street  and  in  th(.!  market  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  excuse  me.  I  mean  we  have  not  met  in  society. 
You  have  been  making  a  hermit  of  yourself,  which  is  not  very 
kind  or  very  comiilinientary  to  youi'  friends,  I  assiu'e  you." 

"I  am  veiy  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  exclaimed  INIrs. 
Grove.  "  That  is  a  subject  on  which  Sliss  Elliott  and  I  never 
agree — I  mean  the  claims  society  has  ui>on  her.  If  she 
makes  a  hermit  of  herself,  I  assure  you  she  is  not  pennitted 
to  do  so  without  remonstrance." 

"  Your  ideas  of  a  hermit's  life  (hffer  from  those  generally 
hekl,"  said  Oracmc,  vexed  at  the  personal  turn  of  the  conver- 
sation, and  more  vexed  still  v,  ith  !Mi-s.  Grove's  interference. 
"  "What  does  the  ballad  say  ? 

'  A  scrip  with  fruits  and  horbs  well  stored, 
And  wat(>r  from  the  spring.' 

"I  am  afraid  a  hciinit's  life  would  not  suit  me." 

"  Oh !  of  course,  we  are  speaking  of  comparative  seclusion," 
said  jMi's.  Grove.  "  Still,  as  ladies  are  supposed  to  have  a 
fancy  for  going  to  extremes,  ]\Iiss  EUiott's  taste  for  quietness 
is  the  most  desirable  extreme  of  the  two." 

The  remark  was  addressed  to  'Mr.  Green,  who  was  an  inter- 
ested listener,  but  Mr.  Proudfute  answered  it. 

"I  am  by  no  means  sure  of  that,  my  dear  madam.  I  can 
understand  how  those  who  have  an  opportunity  of  dail}'  or 
froqu(>nt  intercourse  with  IMiss  Elliott  should  be  content  to 
think  so  ;  but  that  she  slioidd  withdraw  herseh  altogether 
from  society,  should  not  be  permitted.  "What  charming  par- 
ties, I  remember,  we  used  to  enjoy." 

"]\[r.  Proudfute,"'  said  Graeme,  gravely,  "look  at  ]Mrs. 
Snow's  face.  You  are  conveying  to  liev  the  idea  that,  at  one 
time,  I  was  quite  giv(ni  up  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  sho 
is  sliocked,  and  no  wonder.  Now,  my  own  impression  is, 
that  I  was  never  ve:T  fond  of  gohig  into  society,  as  you  call 


IH 


402 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


ffljli    "I 


iKi: 


it.  I  certainly  nc\'er  mot  you  more  than  two  or  tlu'ee  times 
— at  large  parties,  I  mean." 

]Mr.  ProiKlfute  bowed  low. 

"  Well,  that  shows  how  profound  was  the  impression  wliich 
youi'  society  made  on  me,  for  on  looking  back  I  uniformly 
associate  you  with  all  the  pleasant  assembhes  of  the  season. 
You  Avent  with  us  to  Beloeil,  did  you  not  ?  " 

Graeme  shook  her  head. 

'*  ^V'ell,  no  wonder  I  forget,  it  is  so  long  ago,  now. 
You  were  at  ]\Irs.  Roxliuiy's  gi*eat  affair,  were  you  not?  It 
happened  not  long  before  IMi*.  Elphinstone's  death.  Yes,  I 
remember  you  were  there." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  you  were  kind  enough  to  point  out  to 
nie  the  beauties  of  that  wonderful  picture,  in  the  little  room 
up  stairs,"  said  Graeme,  smiling. 

"  Yea,  you  were  ill,  or  slightly  unwell,  I  should  say,  for  you 
recovered  immediately.  You  were  there,  ]Vfr.  Green,  I  remem- 
ber. It  was  a  gi'eat  affair,  given  in  honor  of  INIiss  Elphin- 
stonc  and  yom*  friend  lluthven.  By-the-by,  Misr  Elhott, 
they  lay  themselves  open  to  censure,  as  well  as  you.  They 
rarely  go  out  now,  I  hear." 

"  I  am  to  be  censui'ed  in  good  company,  it  seems,"  said 
Graeme,  laughing. 

"  I  suppose  you  see  them  often,"  continued  no.  "  You 
used  to  be  quite  intimate  with  my  pretty  cousin — I  call  her 
consul,  though  wo  are  only  distantly  connected.  She  is  a 
very  nice  little  w^oman." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  used  to  bo  very  intimate  with  them 
both,"  said  Mrs.  Grove,  "  and  there  has  hardly  been  any 
intercourse  since  Fanny's  marriage.  I  have  often  wondered 
at  and  regretted  it." 

"Have  you?"  said  Cracmo,  coldly.  "We  have  had  little 
intercourse  with  many  old  fi-iends  since  then." 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  daresay,  but  the  lluthvcns  are  very  different 
from  most  of  your  old  friends,  and  worth  the  keeping.  I 
must  speak  to  Fanny  about  it." 

"  Wo  saw  ]Miss  Elpliinstone  often  during  the  fii'st  winter 


.TAXET  S    LOVE   AND   SER^^CP. 


403 


tlioin 


little 


after  her  return.  That  was  the  %\-int'^r  that  !Mr.  Proudfutc  re- 
members as  so  gay,"  said  Graeme.  "Did  I  ever  tell  you 
about  the  beginning  of  liosic's  acquaintance  with  her,  long 
before  that,  when  she  wandered  into  the  garden  and  saw  tho 
gowans  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  dear,  you  told  mo  al)0ut  it  in  a  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  I  never  shall  forget  the  first  ghmpse  I  got  of  that  bunch 
of  flowers,"  said  Graeme,  rather  huiTiedl}-.  "  Rose  has  it  yet 
among  her  treasures.     She  must  show  it  vou." 

But  Mrs.  Cirove  did  not  care  to  hear  about  Rosie's  flowers 
just  then,  and  rather  perversely,  as  Graeme  thought,  n^verted 
to  the  falling  away  of  their  old  intuaacy  with  the  Ruthvens, 
and  to  wonder  at  its  cause  ;  and  there  was  something  in  her 
tone  that  made  !Mrs.  Snow  tm*n  gi'avc,  astonished  eyes  ujion 
her,  and  hclj)ed  Graeme  to  answer  very  ({uietly  and  coldly  to 
her  remark  :    (^^-^ 

"  I  can  easily  see  how  marriage  would  do  something  towards 
estranging  such  warm  friends,  when  only  one  of  tho  parties 
are  interested  ;  but  you  were  very  ultimate  with  ilr.  Riithven, 
as  well,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes  ;  more  so  than  with  Miss  Elphmstone.  ^Ir. 
Ruthven  is  a  very  old  friend  of  OcU's.  We  came  over  in  tho 
same  ship  together." 

"  I  mind  liim  well,"  interposed  ]Mrs.  Snow;  "  a  kindly,  well- 
intentioned  lad  he  seemed  to  be.  Miss  Rose,  my  dear,  I 
doubt  you  shouldna  be  sitting  there  on  the  grass,  witli  the  dew 
falling,  nor  IMrs.  Arthm*,  either." 

A  movement  was  made  to  return  to  the  house. 

"Oh!  Janet,"  whispered  Graeme,  "I  am  afrai«l  jou  are 
tired,  mmd  as  well  as  body,  after  all  this  foolish  talk." 

"  By  no  means,  my  deai\  It  wouldna  be  very  edifj-ing  for 
a  continuance,  but  once  in  a  way  it  is  enjoyable  enough.  Ho 
seems  a  decent,  hannless  body,  that  Mr.  Proudfutf*.  I  wonder 
if  ho  is  any  friend  of  Dr.  Proudfutc,  (jf  Knockie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  indeed,"  said  Graeme,  laughing  ;  "  but  if  ho 
is  a  gi*eat  man,  or  connected  with  great  folk,  I  will  ask  him. 
It  will  be  an  easy  way  of  giving  him  pleasure." 


404 


JANETS   LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


Wi 


% 


Tliey  did  not  mate  a  long  evening  of  it.  jMr.  Green  was 
presented  lljy  Mrs.  Grove  with  a  book  of  plates,  and  Graeme 
was  beguiled  to  a  side-table  to  admire  tliem  with  iiim.  I\Ir. 
Proudf  uto  divided  his  attention  between  them  and  the  piano,  to 
which  Hose  and  Fanny  had  betaken  themscive.-;,  till  at  the 
snggestiim  of  Mrs.  Grove,  Ai'thur  challenged  hhn  to  a  game 
of  chess,  which  lasted  all  the  evening.  Mrs.  Grove  devoted 
herself  "to  INIi's.  Snow,  and  surprised  her  by  the  significant 
glances  she  sent  now  and  then  in  tlie  dii'ection  of  Graeme 
and  jVIr.  Green ;  while  Mr.  Grove  got  IVIr.  Snow  into  a  comer, 
and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  pouring  out  his  heart  on  the 
harbor  question  to  a  new  and  interested  auditor. 

"  Rose,"  said  Farniy,  as  th.cy  sat  together  the  next  day  after 
dinner,  "  what  do  you  think  mamma  said  to  me  this  morning? 
Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "" 

"  K  it  is  anything  particularly  interesting  you  may,"  said 
Rose,  in  a  tone  that  imphcd  a  doubt. 

"  It  was  about  you,"  said  Fanny,  nodding  significantly. 

"  Well,  the  subject  is  interesting,"  said  Rose,  "  whatever  the 
remark  might  be." 

"  What  is  it,  Fanny  ?  "  said  Arthur.  "  Rosie  is  really  very 
anxious  to  know,  though  she  pretends  to  be  so  indifTerent.  I 
daresay  it  was  some  appropriate  remarks  on  her  flii'tation 
with  the  gallant  captain,  last  night." 

"  ]\Iamma  did  n't  mention  Captain  Starr,  but  she  said  she 
had  never  noticed  before  that  Rose  was  so  fond  of  admiration, 
and  a  little  inclined  to  flii't." 

Rose  reddened  and  bit  her  lips, 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Grove  for  her  good  opmion. 
Were  there  any  other  appropriate  renrarks  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  plent}"  more,"  said  I'aimy,  laughmg.  "  I  told 
mamma  it  was  all  nonsense.  She  used  to  say  the  same  of 
me,  and  I  reminded  her  of  it.  I  told  her  we  all  looked  upon 
Rose  as  a  child,  and  that  she  had  no  idea  of  flirting — and  such 
thuigs." 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  do  violence  to  your  conscience  when 
you  said  it,"  said  Ai'thur,  gravely. 


n  ^ 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SICEVICE. 


405 


"  Of  course  not.  But  still  when  I  bc^nin  to  think  about  it, 
I  could  not  bo  qiiitc  sure." 

"  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  said  her  husband. 
Fanny  shook  her  fin;^^cr  at  him. 

"  But  it  was  n't  Captain  Starr  nor  Charlie  Millar  mamma 
meant.     It  was  Iili\  Green." 

The  cloud  vanished  fi'om  Eosie's  face.  She  laughed  and 
clapped  her  hands.    Her  brothers  laughed,  too. 

"Well  done,  Rosie,"  said  Ai-thur.  "But  from  some 
manoiuvQring  I  observed  last-night,  I  was  led  to  believe  that 
]\Irs.  Grove  had  other  views  for  the  gentleman." 

"  So  she  had,"  said  I\anny,  eagerly.  "  And  she  says  Boso 
may  spoil  all  if  she  divides  his  attention.  It  is  just  what 
a  man  of  his  years  is  hkely  to  do,  mamma  says,  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  young  girl  hko  Bosie,  and  (iracme  is  so  much  more 
suitable.  But  I  told  mamma  ( Jracane  would  never  have  him." 
"Allow  me  to  say,  Fanny,  that  I  think  yoii  might  luid  some 
more  suitable  subject  for  discussion  v/ith  JMi-s.  Gro\'e,"  said 
Rose,  mchgnantly.     Aiihur  laughed. 

"  You  ought  to  be  veiy  thankful  for  the  kind  interest  taken 
in  yoiu-  welfare,  and  in  Graeme's,  too.  I  am  sm-c  Mr.  Green 
would  be  highly  flattered  if  he  could  be  aware  of  the  sensation 
he  is  creating  among  us." 

"  Mr.  Green  admires  Graeme  very  much,  he  told  mamma  ; 
and  mamma  says  he  would  have  proposed  to  her,  when  ho 
was  hero  before,  if  it  had  not  been  for  ]Mi',  Ruthv(}n.  You 
know  he  ^vas  very  intimate  here  then,  and  every  body  said  ho 
and  Graeme  were  engaged.  Mamma  says  it  was  a  gi-eat  pity 
he  did  not.  It  would  have  prevented  the  remarks  of  ill- 
natured  people  when  Mr.  Buthven  was  married— about 
Graeme,  I  mean." 

"It  is  be  hoped  no  one  v.ill  be  ill-natured  enougli  to  repeat 
anything  of  that  sort  in  Graeme's  hearing,"  said  Arthur,  very 
much  aimoved. 

"Oh!  don't  bo  alarmed.  Graeme  is  too  well  accustomed 
by  this  time,  to  Mis.  Grove's  impertinences,  to  allow  anything 
she  says  to  trouble  her,"  said  IIohq,  with  Hashing  eyes. 


w 


i\ 


400 


JANKT  ti    LUVK    AM)   SERVICK. 


Mrs.  Show's  liand  wuh  laid  softly  on  that  of  tlio  yonn^  jrirl, 
wlio  liail  risen  in  licr  iiidi^'iiaiion. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear,"  she  wliisju^'od. 

"  Nonsi'uso,  llosi(<,"  said  li';r  brotlujr  ;  "there  is  nothing'  to 
l)e  vexed  about.     How  can  you  bo  so  foolish?  " 

"Indeed,"  said  Fanny,  a  litttlo  frij^htcncd  at  Iho  excito- 
nu>nt  she  had  raised,  "  niainiua  didn't  mean  anythinjj  that 
yon  would  n't  like.     She  only  thought " 

"  We  had  bolter  say  nothing  more  about  it,"  said  Arthur, 
interrn})iin<jf  her.  "I  daro  say  Gi'aemo  can  nianapfo  her  own 
alTairs  without  help  from  other  people.  But  there  is  nothiufj 
to  be  vexed  about,  Llosie.  Don't  jnit  on  a  face  like  that  about 
it,  you  foolish  lassi(\" 

"What  is  the  matter  her(>,  pjood  people?"  said  Graenio, 
onterini;^  at  the  momout.  "AVhat  arc  you  quarrelhuj^  about? 
"What  ails  Kosie?  " 

"Oh!  Mrs.  (i  rove  has  been  givinj^f  hor  somo  p^ood  advieo, 
•which  she  don't  receive  so  meekly  as  sho  might,"  said  Arthur. 

"  That  is  very  uni^rateful  of  you,  Easie,"  said  her  sister. 
Mrs.  Grove's  int(>rfercnco  did  n't  seom  a  sufficient  matter  to 
frown  iibout. 

"  How  is  she  now,  my  dear?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Snow,  by  way 
of  chans^'inpf  the  subject. 

She  was  INIrs.  Tilmnn,  who  had  of  late  become  subject  to 
sudden  attacks  of  illness,  "  not  danp^erous,  but  severe,"  as  sho 
herself  declared.  They  had  become  rather  frequent,  but  as 
they  <^euer:illy  came  on  at  night,  and  were  over  before  morning-, 
so  that  they  tlid  not  specially  interfere  with  her  work,  they 
were  not  alarming  to  the  rest  of  the  household.  Indeed,  they 
seldom  heard  of  them  till  they  were  over  ;  for  the  considorato 
Mrs.  Tilman  was  wont  to  insist  to  Sarah,  that  the  ladien  sliould 
not  be  disturbed  on  her  account.  But  Sarah  had  become  a 
little  uncomfi)rtable,  and  had  confessed  as  much  to  Graeme, 
and  (Traemo  desired  to  be  told  the  next  time  she  was  ill,  and 
so  it  happened  that  she  was  not  present  when  a  subject  so  in- 
teresting to  herself  was  discussed. 


^w.^ 


[ 


Janet's  lovh  ani>  si;i:vi(;i;. 


10  7 


]n- 


"  Ih  Mrs.  Tiliiiau  ill  jv^'iiin?  "  a^^k(;(l  Fanny.  "  lEow  annoy- 
in<^!    Slio  is  not  vory  ill,  I  Iiopo." 

"  No,"' .said  ( Jnu'iuc,  qiiiiMly;  "she  will  bo  better  to-niorio\v." 

That  nif^'iit,  in  tlio  retirement  of  their  d)anil)er,  Mr.  a.nl 
I^[j-H.  Snow  w((ro  in  no  liasto  to  begin,  as  was  their  custom,  the 
(ioniparing  of  notes  over  the  events  of  tlie  day.  This  was 
usually  the  way  when  anytliiii^  Dot  very  pheasant  had  occiu* 
red,  or  when  anytl\ing  luid  been  said  that  it  was  not  a;^n-(!eablo 
to  recall.     It  was  ]\Ir.  Snow  who  bCf,'an  the  c()nv(;rsation. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  tliink  of  all  that  talk  ?"  asked  lie,  when 
his  wife  sat  down,  after  a  rather  protractcid  putting,'  away  of 
various  articles  in  l)oxes  and  drawers. 

"Oh!  I  think  little  of  it — just  what  I  have  a3c  thouf,dit — 
that  yon  is  a  inoddUssome,  short-sighted  v/oinau.  It  is  a  pity 
her  daurfhtcr  hasna  the  sense  to  see  il." 

"Oh !  I  don't  think  the  little  thin^-  meant  any  harm  But 
Rosie  llared  rij^dit  Up,  didn't  she  V  " 

"I  shouldna  wonder  ])ut  lu^r  (fonscience  told  her  there 
was  some  tiiith  in  the  accusation — a])out  her  love  of  admiriv 
tion,  I  mean.  But  Mrs.  Arthur  is  n(;t  the  one  that  should 
throw  stones  at  her  for  that,  I'm  thiukiuf^." 

"  But  about  Oreame  1  She  Avill  never  many  that  man, 
will  she  V" 

"He'll  never  ask  her,"  said]\Ii\s.  Snow,  shortly.  "At  least 
I  think  he  never  will." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  It  looked  a  little  like  it,  last  nij,'ht ; 
and  come  to  think  of  it,  he  talked  a  little  like  it,  too." 

"  He  is  no'  the  man  to  ask  any  woman,  till  he  is  sm'e  he 
will  not  ask  in  vain.     He  may,  but  I  dinna  think  it." 

"  Wt;ll,  perhajis  not.  Of  course,  I  ccnild  see  last  ni^dit, 
that  it  was  all  fixed,  their  beinj,'  together.  But  I  thouffht 
she  stood  it  pretty  well,  better  than  she  would  if  she  hatln't 
liked  it." 

"  Hoot,  man  !  She  thouf^lit  nothing  about  it.  I  ler  thoughts 
were  far  enough  from  him,  and  his  likes,  and  dislikes,"  said 
Mrs.  Snow,  with  a  sigh. 


iH: 


111    i* 


If 


Mi 


tii  § 


408 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


'•  As  a  gcucral  tbinj:^,  gills  are  quick  enough  to  find  oufc 
when  a  man  cares  for  them,  aud  he  showed  it  plainly  to  me. 
I  guess  she  mistrusts." 

"  No,  a  woman  kens  when  a  man  has  lost  his  heart  to  her. 
He  lets  her  see  it  in  many  ways,  when  he  has  no  thought  of 
doing  so.  But  a  woman  is  not  likely  to  know  it,  when  a 
man  without  love  wishes  to  marry  her,  till  he  tells  her  in 
words.  And  what  heart  has  twenty  years  cheat'ry  of  his 
fcillowmcn  left  to  yon  man,  that  my  bauTi  should  waste  a 
thought  on  a  worldhng  like  him  ?  " 

i\Ir.  Snow  was  silent.  His  wife's  tone  betrayed  to  him  that 
something  was  troubling  her,  or  ho  would  have  ventured  a 
wt)rd  in  his  new  friend's  defence.  Not  that  he  was  inclined 
to  plead  ]Mr.  Green's  cause  with  Graeme,  but  he  could  not 
help  feeluig  a  little  com2:)assion  for  him,  and  he  said  : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  feel  inclined  to  take  his  part,  because 
he  makes  me  think  of  what  I  was  myself  once,  and  that  not 
so  long  ago." 

The  look  that  j\Irs.  Snow  tmiied  upon  her  husband  was 
one  of  indignant  astonishment. 

*'  Like  you !  You  diy  stick  !  " 

"  Well,  ain't  he  ?  "  You  used  to  think  me  a  pretty  hard 
case.     Now,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  'm  no'  going  to  tell  you  to-niglit  what  I  used  to  think 
of  you,"  said  liis  wife,  more  mildl}-.  I  never  saw  you  on  the 
day  when  you  didna  think  more  of  other  folks'  comfort  than 
you  thought  of  your  own,  and  that  couldna  be  said  of  him,  this 
many  a  year  and  day.     He  is  not  a  fit  mate  for  my  baini." 

"  A^'ell — no,  he  ain't.  He  ain't  a  Christian,  and  that  is  the 
fii'st  thing  she  would  consider.  But  he  ain't  satisfied  with 
himself,  and  if  anybody  in  the  world  could  bring  him  to 
be  what  he  ought  to  bo,  ohe  is  the  one."  And  he  repeated 
the  couYcri-iation  that  had  taken  place  when  they  were  left 
alone  in  the  summer-house. 

"•But  being  dissatisfied  with  himself,  is  very  far  from  behig 
a  chang-ed  man,  and  that  work  must  be  done?  by  a  greater 
than  Graeme.     And  besides,   if  he  were   a   changed   man 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


)  find  out 
i]y  to  me. 

irt  to  her. 
liouglit  of 
it,  when  a 
Us  her  in 
-'ry  of  his 
I  waste  a 

him  that 
'uturcd  a 

inclined 
could  not 

because 
that  not 

and  was 


ity  hard 

to  think 
Li  on  the 
'ort  than 
bim,  this 
•airn." 
at  is  the 
Led  with 
him  to 
t'epeatcd 
i'ere  left 


409 


to-night,  he  is  no'  the  man  to  win  Miss  Graeme's  heart,  and 
he  '11  no  ask  her.  He  is  far  more  like  to  ask  Rosic  ;  for  I 
doubt  she  is  not  l^ejond  leachng  him  on  for  her  own  amuse- 
ment." 

"Oh !  Come  now,  ain't  you  a  little  too  hard  on  Rosio,"  said 
Mr.  Snow,  oxpostulatingly.  He  could  not  bear  that  his  pet 
should  be  found  fault  with.  "  I  call  that  as  cruel  a  thing  as 
a  woman  can  do,  and  Rosie  would  never  do  it,  I  hope." 

"  Not  with  a  conscious  desire  to  give  pain.  But  she  is  a 
bonny  creature,  and  she  is  leammg  her  own  power,  as  they 
all  do  sooner  or  later  ;  and  few  make  so  good  a  use  of  such 
power  as  they  might  do  ;"  and  :Mi-s.  Snow  sighed. 

"  You  don't  thmk  there  is  anythmg  in  what  Mrs.  Grove 
said  about  Graeme  and  her  fiiend  I  have  heard  so  much 
about  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Snow,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  duma  ken.  I  would  believe  it  none  the  readier  that 
yon  foolish  woman  said  it." 

"She  seems  kmd  of  down,  though,  these  days,  don't  she? 
She's  graver  and  quieter  than  she  used  to  be,"  said  m-.  Snow, 
with  some  hesitation.  He  was  not  sure  how  his  remark 
would  be  taken. 

"Oh!  well,  maybe.  She's  older  for  one  thmg,"  said  his 
wife,  gravely.  "  And  she  has  her  cares  ;  some  of  them  I  see 
plamly  enough,  and  some  of  them,  I  daresav,  she  keeps  out 
of  sight.  But  as  for  Allan  Ruthven,  it's  not  for  one  waman 
to  say  of  another,  that  she  has  given  her  heart  imsoun-ht. 
And  I  am  sure  of  her,  that  whatever  befalls  her,  she  is  one 
of  those  that  need  fear  no  evil." 

18 


m  beuig 

greater 

ed   man 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


u^ 


,4.:  V  ii 


•  •  "l^T  is  a  wonder  to  me,  Miss  Graeme,"  said  IVIrs.  Snow, 
i  after  one  of  their  long  talks  about  old  times — *'  it  is  a 
wonder  U)  me,  that  minding  ISIerleville  and  all  your  friends 
there  as  well  as  you  do,  you  should  never  have  thought  it 
worth  your  while  to  come  bagk  and  see  us." 

"  Worth  our  while ! "  repeated  Graeme.  "  It  was  not 
indifference  that  hindered  us,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  I 
wonder,  myself,  how  it  is  we  have  never  gone  back  again. 
When  we  first  came  here,  how  Will.,  and  Bosie,  and  I,  used 
to  plan  and  dream  about  it !  I  may  confess,  now,  how  very 
homesick  we  all  were — how  we  longed  for  you.  But,  at  first, 
the  expense  would  have  been  something  to  consider,  you 
know  ;  and  afterwards,  other  things  happened  to  prevent  us. 
Wo  were  very  near  going  once  or  twice." 

"  jiVnd  when  was  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Snow,  seemingly  intent 
on  her  knitting,  but  all  the  time  aware  that  the  old  shadow 
was  Hovering  over  Graeme.  She  did  not  answer  immedi- 
ately. 

*'Once  was  with  Norman  and  Hilda.  Oh!  I  did  so 
long  to  go  with  them !  I  had  almost  made  up  my  mind  to 
go,  and  leave  Rosie  at  home.  I  was  glad  I  did  n't,  afterward." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  ?"  demanded  her  friend. 

"  For  one  thing,  we .  had  been  away  a  long  time  in  the 
summer,  and  I  did  not  like  to  leave  home  again.  Arthur  did 
not  encourage  me  to  go.  It  was  on  the  very  night  that 
Norman  Mcnt  away  that  Arthur  told  me  of  his  engagement." 

"  I  daresay  you  did  right  to  bide  at  home,  then." 

"Yes,  I  knew  it  was  best,  but  that  did  not  prevent  me 
wishing  very  much  to  go.    I  had  the  greatest  desire  to  go  to 
(410) 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND   PEIiVICK. 


411 


,  Snow, 
"  it  is  a 
Mends 
light  it 

iiTas  not 
that.  I 
:  again. 

I,  used 
ow  very 

at  first, 
!er,  you 
eent  us. 

intent 
shadow 
immedi- 

did  so 
oind  to 
rward." 

in  the 
liur  did 
ht  that 
omcnt." 

eat  me 
o  go  to 


you.     I  had  no  one  to  speak  to.     I  daresay  it  would  not  havo 
scorned  half  so  bad,  if  I  could  havo  told  you  all  about  it." 

"My  dear,  you  had  yom*  sister." 

"  Yes,  but  Kosie  was  as  bad  as  I  was.  It  seemed  like  the 
breaking  up  of  all  tliiii<jfs.  I  know  now,  how  AVTong  and 
foolish  I  was,  but  I  could  not  help  being  wretched  then." 

'•  It  was  a  gi'cat  change,  certainly,  and  I  dinna  wonder 
that  the  prospect  startled  you." 

Mrs.  Snow  spc^lce  very  quietly  ;  she  was  anxious  to  hear 
more  ;  and  forgetting  her  prudence  in  the  pleasure  it  gave 
her  to  unbui'dcn  her  heart  to  her  friend,  Graeme  went  on 
rapidly, 

"  If  it  only  had  been  any  one  else,  I  thought  We  didn't 
know  Fanny  very  well,  then — hai'dly  at  all,  indeed,  and  she 
seemed  such  a  vain,  fiivolous  httle  thing,  .so  different  fi'om 
what  I  thought  iViihur's  wife  should  bo ;  and  I  disliked  her 
stei)mother  so  much — more  than  I  over  disliked  any  one,  I 
think,  except  perhaps  Mrs.  Pago,  when  we  first  came  to 
Merleville.  Do  you  mind  her  fust  visit  with  Mi's.  Merle, 
Janet  ?" 

"I  mind  it  well,"  said  IMi'S.  Snow,  smihng.  '*Sho  was 
no  favorite  of  mine.  I  dai'csay  I  was  too  hard  on  her  some- 
times." 

Graeme  laughed  at  the  remembrance  of  the  "  downset- 
tings  "  which  "  the  smith's  wife  "  had  experienced  at  Janet's 
hands  in  those  early  days.  The  pause  gave  her  time  to  think, 
and  she  hastened  to  tuni  the  conversation  from  Arthur  and 
his  mariiago  to  Merlo\ille  and  the  old  times.  Janet  did  not 
try  to  hinder  it,  and  answered  her  questions,  and  volunteered 
some  new  items  on  the  theme,  but  when  there  came  a  pause, 
she  asked  quietly, 

"  And  when  was  the  other  time  you  thought  of  coming  to 
see  us  all  ?" 

"  Oh !  that  was  before,  in  the  spring.  Arthur  proposed 
that  we  should  go  to  Merleville,  but  we  went  to  the  seaside, 
you  know.  It  was  on  my  account ;  I  was  ill,  and  the  doctor 
said  the  sea-breeze  was  what  I  needed." 


I  i   II 


412 


Janet's  lovk  and  skrvice. 


l^ft.  i 


"  The  breezes  ainon;:^  our  hills  would  liavo  been  as  good  for 
you,  I  daresay.     I  wonder  you  (hdu't  come  tli(M)." 

"  Oh !  I  could  not  bear  the  thoii;j[ht  of  goin^^  then.  I  was 
ill,  and — good  for  nothing.  It  would  have  l)een  no  pleasure 
for  any  one  to  see  me  then.  I  think  I  should  hardly  have  cared 
to  go  away  anywhere,  if  Ai'thui'  had  not  insisted,  and  tho 
doctor  too." 

Unconsciously  (iraenie  yielded  to  tho  impulse  to  say  to  her 
friend  just  what  was  in  her  heart. 

"  But  what  ailed  you  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Snow,  looking  up  with 
astonished  eyes,  that  reminded  Graeme  there  were  some 
thmgs  that  could  not  be  told  even  to  her  friend. 

"What  ailed  you?"  r^^peated  jMi's.  Snow. 

"  I  c m't  tell  you.  An  attack  of  the  nerves,  Nelly  caUod  it, 
and  she  was  partly  right.  I  was  tilled.  It  was  just  after 
Will.'s  long  illness,  and  Harry's  going  away,  and  other 
thmgs." 

"I  daresay  you  were  weary  and  sorrowful,  too,  and  no 
wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  tenderly. 

"Yes,  about  Hany.  I  was  very  anxious.  There  were 
some  doubts  about  his  going,  for  a  while.  'Mr.  Euthven 
hesitated,  and  Harry  chafed  and  vexed  himself  and  me,  too, 
poor  laddie  ;  but  we  got  through  that  time  at  last,"  added 
Graeme,  with  a  gi'cat  sigh. 

"  Did  IVIi*.  Ruthven  ken  of  HaiTy's  temptation  ?  Was  it  for 
that  he  hesitated  ?"  asked  IVIi's.  Snow. 

"  I  cannot  say.  Oh !  yes,  he  knew,  or  he  suspected.  But 
I  don't  think  he  hesitated  altogether  because  of  that.  As  soon 
as  he  knew  that  we  were  quite  wilUng — Aiihur  and  I — he  de- 
cided at  once.  Mr.  Ruthven  was  very  kind  and  considerate 
tlu'ough  it  all." 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  v.ith  some  hesita- 
tion, "  did  you  ever  tliink  there  was  anything  between  your 
brother  Harry  and  his  master's  daughter — the  young  lady 
that  Allan  Ruthven  married — or  was  it  only  Sandy's  fancy  ?" 

Graeme's  face  grew  whitQ  as  she  turned  her  startled  eyes 
on  her  friend. 


JANI-.T  S    LOVr.    AND   PERVICK. 


413 


"Sandy!  Did  lie  sec  it?  I  did  not  think  about  it  :it  tho 
timo  ;  but  al'tcrward  I  knew  it,  and,  oh !  Janet,  you  ciinnot 
think  lio\A'  it  added  to  my  ^Yret(  hedness  about  Harry." 

"  Mv  bairn!  Thoro  have  boon  some  rou''h  bits  on  then;ad 
you  have  l)cen  travellinj^.  No  wonder  your  feet  got  weary, 
whik's." 

(Jracnie  rose,  and,  witliout  spoakinri;,  came  and  laid  her  head 
ujion  her  friend's  lap.     In  a  little  she  said, 

"How  I  lon^^'ed  for  this  place !  I  had  no  one  to  spiak 
to.  I  used  to  think  you  might  have  helped  and  comforted 
mo  a  little." 

She  did  not  try  to  hide  her  tears  ;  but  they  did  not  ll(jw 
long.  Janet's  kind  hand  had  not  lost  its  old  soothing  powei', 
and  by  and  by  Graeme  raised  herself  up,  and,  wiping  away 
her  tears,  said,  with  a  faint  smile, 

"  And  so  Sandy  saw  poor  Harry's  secret  ?  I  did  not,  at 
first.  I  suppose  httlo  Emilj  had  sharpened  his  ejes  to  sec 
such  things,  even  then." 

"  Yes,  Sandy  saw  it,  and  it  was  a  gi'cat  surprise  to  us  all 
when  there  came  word  of  her  maniage.  Sandy  nev*  r 
thought  of  Allan  Euthven  and  his  cousin  coming  Uy- 
gether." 

Graeme  rose  and  took  her  work  again.  It  was  gi'owiiig 
dark,  and  she  carried  it  to  the  window  and  bent  over  it. 

"  Was  it  for  her  money — or  v/hy  was  it  ?" 

"  Oh !  no.  I  never  could  think  so.  She  was  a  very  sw  i.'t 
and  lovely  creature  ;  wo  loved  her  dearly,  Rose  and  I.  They 
had  been  engaged  a  long  tune,  I  bcUeve,  though  the  marriage 
was  sudden  at  last.  That  was  because  of  her  father's  ilhiess. 
He  died  soon  after,  you  remember." 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  Well,  I  didna  thmk  that  iVllan  Rnth- 
ven  was  one  to  let  tho  world  get  a  firm  giip  of  him.  But 
folk  change.     I  didna  ken." 

"  Oh  !  no,  it  was  not  that,"  said  Grocmo,  eagerly.  Indeed, 
at  that  time,  Mr.  Eljjhmstone's  atfau's  were  ratlicr  uivolvel 
Ho  had  met  with  great  Losses,  Harry  says,  and  Arthur 
thought  that  nothing  but  ]\Ir.  Rutliven'u  high  character  and 


i 


i 


/it' 


f 


m  ^ 
'*'fi 


; 


414 


jaxkt's  lovk  and  skkvice. 


f^reat  business  talents  could  have  saved  the  firm  from  ruin. 
Oh  !  no  ;  it  was  not  for  money." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  it.  I  am  glad 
that  Allan  lluthven  hasna  changed.  I  thiiik  you  said  he 
hasna  changed  ?" 

"  At  first  I  thought  him  changed,  but  afterwards  I  thought 
him  just  the  same." 

"  Maybe  it  was  her  that  wanted  the  money  ?  If  her  father 
was  in  trouble—" 

"  No,  oh !  no !  You  could  never  have  such  a  thought  if 
you  had  ever  seen  her  face.  I  don't  know  how  it  happened. 
As  all  marriages  happen,  I  suppose.  It  was  vciy  natural ;  but 
we  won't  speak  about  it." 

"  They  seem  to  have  forgotten  their  fi'iends.  I  think  you 
said  you  seldom  see  them  now." 

"  We  don't  see  them  often.  They  have  been  out  of  town  a 
good  deal,  and  we  have  fallen  a  little  out  of  acquamtance. 
But  we  have  done  that  with  many  others  ;  we  have  made  so 
many  new  acquaintances  since  Arthm-'s  marriage — friends  of 
Fanny's,  you  know  ;  and,  somehow,  nothing  seems  quite  tho 
same  as  it  used  to  do.  If  Mr.  Ruthven  knew  you  were  in 
town,  I  am  sui'C  he  v/ould  have  been  to  see  you  before 
now." 

"  I  am  no'  weaiyuig  to  see  him,"  said  IMrs.  Snow,  coldly. 
"  But,  my  dear,  is  your  work  of  more  value  than  your  eyes,  that 
you  are  keeping  at  it  in  the  dark  ?" 

Graeme  laughed  and  laid  it  down,  but  did  not  leave  the 
window,  and  soon  it  grew  so  dark  that  she  had  no  excuse  for 
lookinj^  out.  So  she  began  to  move  about  the  room,  bus}-iug 
herself  with  putting  away  her  work,  and  the  books  and 
papers  that  were  scattered  about.  Janet  watched  her  silently. 
The  shadow  was  dark  on  her  face,  and  her  movements,  as 
she  displaced  and  arranged  and  rc-arrrauged  the  trifles  on  the 
table  were  quick  and  restless.  When  there  seemed  nothing 
more  for  hor  to  do,  she  stood  still  with  nn  inieasy  look  onln  r 
face,  as  though  she  thought  her  friend  were  watching  her, 
and  then  moved  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 


ora  ruin. 


am  glad 
said  ho 


'  thought 


er  father 

3nght  if 
fij^pened. 
iral ;  but 

link  you 

f  to\Mi  a 
liiitance. 
tiiado  so 
iciids  of 
uitc  the 
were  in 
before 

cohlly. 
OS,  that 

ive  the 
luso  for 
usying 
|vs  and 
ilontly. 
hits,  as 
Ion  tho 
ptliiiig 
:)Illit  r 
her, 


JANKT  8    LOVE   AND   BERVICK. 


415 


"My dear,"  said  IVIrs.  Suow,  in  a  little,  "how old  are  you 
now  ?" 

Graeme  laughed,  and  came  and  took  her  old  scat 

"  01)  !  Janet,  you  must  not  ask.  I  have  come  to  the  point 
when  ladies  don't  hke  to  answer  that  question,  as  }  ou  might 
very  well  know,  if  you  would  stop  to  consider  a  mmute." 

"  And  what  point  may  that  be,  if  I  may  ask  ?" 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  to  be  told.  Do  you  know  Fanny  begins  to 
shake  her  head  over  me,  and  to  call  me  an  old  maid." 

"Ay!  that  is  aye  the  way  with  these  young  wives,"  said 
Janet,  scornfully.  "  There  must  be  near  ten  yeai's  between 
you  and  Rose." 

"Yes,  quite  ten  yeai's,  and  she  is  almost  a  woman — past 
sixteen.     I  am  gi'owing  old." 

"  What  a  wee  white  Rose  she  was,  when  she  fii-st  fell  to  voiur 
care,  dear.  AMio  would  have  thought  then  that  she  would 
ever  have  gi'own  to  be  the  bonny  creatui'e  she  is  today  ?" 

"Is  she  not  lovely?  And  not  vain  or  spoiled,  though  it 
would  be  no  wonder  if  f-he  were,  she  is  so  much  admncd. 
Do  you  mind  what  a  cankered  wee  fauy  she  used  to 
be?" 

"  I  mind  well  the  patience  that  never  w(?aried  of  her,  even 
at  the  worst  of  times,"  said  ^Mrs.  Suow,  laj-ing  her  hand 
tenderly  on  Graeme's  bowed  head. 

"  I  was  weary  and  impatient  often.  Wliat  a  long  time  it  is 
since  those  days,  and  }et  it  seems  like  yesterday."  And 
Graeme  sighed. 

"  Were  you  sighing  because  so  many  of  your  years  ho  bc- 
lund  you,  my  bairn  ?"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  softly. 

"No,  rather  because  so  many  of  th  ..'  lie  before  me,"  said 
Graeme,  slowly.  "Unless,  indeed,  tlicy  may  have  more  to 
show  than  the  j'cars  that  are  past." 

"  W^e  may  all  sry  that,  dear,"  said  INIra.  Snow,  gravely. 
"None  of  us  have  done  all  that  we  might  have  done.  But, 
my  bairn,  such  (hT'tiiy  words  are  not  natural  from  young 
lips,  and  the  years  before  yon  may  be  few.  You  may  not 
have  time  to  grow  wcai'y  of  them." 


I  I 


WW   I 

.♦ 

inffi'^'i 

'i 

MnF''^''1 

"■ 

i^9K''''i^fl 

,1^ 

W  W  .Ifl 

,» 

irlniiiiy 

1 

.!■ 

#1 


;'i' 


1  :        Iv 


416 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SEri\ICE. 


"  That  is  true,"  said  Graeme.  "  And  I  ought  not  to  gi'ow 
^veary,  be  they  many  or  few." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  broken  at  last  by  (iraciuc. 

"Janet,"  said  she,  "do  you  think  I  could  keep  a  school? " 

"  A  school,"  repeated  Mrs.  Snow.  "  Oh,  aye  I  daresay  j-ou 
could,  if  you  put  your  mind  to  '^.  What  would  Ijirxder  you  ? 
It  would  depend  some  on  what  kind  of  u  school  it  was,  too, 
I  daresay." 

"  You  know,  teaching  is  almost  the  only  tlimg  a  woman 
can  do  to  eani  a  livehhood.  It  is  the  only  thing  I  could  do. 
I  don't  mean  that  I  could  take  charge  of  a  school ;  I  am  afi'aid 
I  am  hardly  fit  for  that.  But  I  could  teach  classes.  I  know 
French  well,  and  music,  and  Gorman  a  httle." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  gravely,  "  Avliat  has  put  such 
a  thought  in  your  head  ?  Have  you  spoken  to  yoiu'  brothci' 
about  it  ?    What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  To  Arthur  ?  No,  I  have  n't  spoken  to  him.  He  would  n  *o 
like  the  idea  at  first,  I  suppose  ;  but  if  it  were  best,  he  would 
reconcile  liimseK  to  it  in  tune." 

•'  You  speak  about  getting  yoiu'  Hvelihood.  Is  there  any 
need  for  it?  I  mean,  is  there  more  need  than  there  has 
been  ?    Is  not  your  brother  able,  and  willing " 

"  Oh !  yes,  it  is  not  that.  I  don't  know.  Our  expenses 
are  greater  than  they  used  to  be — double,  indeed.  But  there 
is  enough,  I  suppose.  It  is  not  that — at  least  it  is  nut  that 
only,  or  chiefly." 

"  What  is  it  then,  dear  child  ?  "  asked  her  friend. 

But  Graeme  could  not  answer  at  the  moment.  There 
were  many  reasons  why  she  should  not  continue  to  live  her 
present  unsatisfjing  life,  and  yet  she  did  not  know  how  to 
tell  her  friend.  They  were  all  plain  enough  to  her,  but  some 
of  thorn  she  could  not  put  in  words  for  tho  hearing  of  Janet, 
even.  She  had  been  saying  to  herself,  all  along,  that  it  was 
natural,  and  not  wrong  for  hor  to  grow  tired  of  hor  useless, 
aimless  life,  and  to  long  for  earnest,  brachig  work  ;  such  as 
many  a  woman  she  could  name  was  toiling  bravely  at.  But 
v/ith  Janet's  kind  hand  on  her  heafl,  and  her  calm,  clear  eyes 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


417 


t  to  gi-ow 

school?" 
rosay  you 
Aov  you  ? 
;  was,  too, 

a  woman 

could  do. 

am  afraid 

.     I  know 

put  such 
lu*  brother 

)  wouldn't 
;,  he  would 

there  any 
there  has 

expciiscs 

3ut  there 

not  that 


There 
to  live  her 
3W  how  to 

but  some 

of  Janet, 
that  it  was 
>v  uselt'S?}, 

;  such  as 
y  at.     But 

dear  eves 


looking  down  upon  her  face,  she  was  constrained  to  aclcnow- 
ledge  that,  but  for  one  thiuj^,  this  restless  discontent  mifrht 
never  have  found  her.  To  herself  she  was  williiif(  to  confess 
it.  Lonj^  ago  she  had  looked  her  sonvnv  in  the  face,  and 
said,  "With  God's  help  I  can  bear  it."  She  declared  to  her- 
self that  it  was  well  to  be  roused  from  sloth,  even  by  a  great 
son'ow,  so  that  she  could  find  work  to  do.  But,  that  Janet 
should  look  upon  her  with  pitying  or  reproving  eyus,  she 
could  not  bear  to  think  ;  '-"o  she  sat  at  her  feet,  having  no 
power  to  open  her  lips,  never  thinking  that  by  her  silence, 
and  by  the  unquiet  hght  in  her  downcast  eyes,  more  was 
revealed  to  her  faithful  old  friend  than  spoken  words  could 
have  tcld. 

"  "VNTiat  is  it  my  dear  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Snow.  "  Is  it  pride  or 
discontent,  or  is  it  somethuig  worse  ?  " 

Graeme  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

*'  Can  anything  be  worse  than  these  ?  " 

"  Is  it  that  vour  brother  is  wearying  of  vou  ?  " 

"No,  no!  I  could  not  do  him  the  wrong  to  think  that. 
It  would  grieve  him  to  lose  us,  I  know.  Even  when  he 
thought  it  was  for  my  happiness  to  go  away,  the  thought  of 
partmg  gave  him  pain." 

"  And  you  have  more  sense  than  to  let  the  airs  and  non- 
sense of  his  baiiTi-wife  vex  you  ?  " 

Graeme  was  silent  a  moment.  She  did  not  care  to  enter 
upon  the  subject  of  Arthm-'s  wife  just  at  this  time. 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  Fanny,  Janet,"  said 
she,  hesitating. 

""SVeel,  dear,  maybe  no.  The  banns  that  I  have  had  to 
deal  with  have  not  been  of  her  kind.  I  have  had  no  ex- 
perieDoe  of  the  like  of  her." 

"  But  what  I  mean  is  that  her  faults  are  such  as  every  one 
can  see  at  a  glance,  and  she  has  many  sweet  and  lovable 
qualities.  I  love  her  dearly.  iVnd,  Janet,  I  don't  tliink  it  is 
quite  kind  in  you  to  think  that  I  giiidgo  Fanny  her  proper 
place  in  her  own  house.     I  only  wish  that " 

**  You  only  wish  that  she  were  at"  able  to  fill  it  with  credit, 
18* 


L>      i 


418 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


,'■'11;       i 


V  i 


as  you  are  willing  to  let  her.  I  wish  that,  too.  And  I  am 
very  far  from  thinkmg  that  you  grudge  her  anything  that 
she  ought  to  have." 

"  Oh  !  Janet,"  said  Graeme,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  mate  you  understand." 

"  You  might  try,  however.  You  havona  tried  yet,"  said 
Janet,  gently.  "  It  is  not  that  you  are  growing  too  proud  to 
eat  bread  oi  your  brother's  winning,  is  it  ?  " 

"I  don'i;  think  it  is  pride.  I  know  that  Arthur  considers 
that  what  belongs  to  him  belongs  to  us  all.  But,  even  when 
that  is  true,  it  may  be  better,  for  many  reasons,  that  I  should 
eat  bread  of  my  own  winning  than  of  his.  Everybody  has 
Bometl  ivg  to  do  in  the  wox'ld.  Even  rich  ladies  have  their 
houses  L  1,  and  their  famiUes  to  care  for,  and  the  claims 
of  sociiitj  b  ^tisfy,  and  all  that.  An  ilUe  life  like  mine  is 
not  natural  nor  right.  No  wonder  that  I  weary  of  it  I 
ought  not  to  be  idle." 

*'  Idle !  I  should  lay  that  imputation  at  the  door  of  any- 
body in  the  house  rather  than  at  yoiu'S.  You  used  to  be 
over  fond  of  idle  di'eaming,  but  I  see  none  of  it  now.  You 
are  aye  busy  at  something." 

"YeS;  busy  about  something,"  repeated  Graeme,  a  httle 
scornfully.  "But  about  things  that  might  as  well  be 
left  undone,  or  that  another  might  do  as  well." 

"  And  I  daresay  some  one  could  be  foimd  to  do  the  work 
of  the  best  and  the  busiest  of  us,  if  we  werena  able  to  do  it. 
But  that  is  no'  to  say  but  we  may  be  working  to  some  pur- 
pose in  the  world  for  all  that.  But  it  is  no'  agreeable  to  do 
other  folks'  work,  aud  let  them  get  the  wages,  I  '11  allow." 

"WiU.  said  somethuig  like  that  to  me  once,  and  it  is 
possible  that  I  may  have  some  despicable  feeling  of  that  soii;, 
since  you  and  ho  seem  to  think  it,"  said  Graeme,  and  her 
voice  took  a  grieved  and  desponding  tone. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  bringing  no  such  accusation  against  you. 
I  am  only  sajdng  that  the  hke  of  that  is  not  agreeable,  and 
it  is  not  profitable  to  anybody  concerned.  I  daresay  ]VIrs. 
Arthur  fancies  that  it  is  her,  and  no'  you  that  keeps  the 


ii 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


419 


house  ill  a  state  of  perfection  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see. 
She  p(>rsna(les  her  husband  of  it,  at  any  rate," 

"  Fanny  Joes  not  mean — she  does  not  know  much  about 
it.  But  that  is  one  more  reason  why  I  ought  to  go.  She 
ought  to  have  the  responsiljihty,  as  well  as  to  fancy  that  she 
has  it ;  and  they  would  got  used  to  being  without  us  in  time."' 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  I  think  I  must  have  told  you 
/  "what  your  father  said  to  me  after  his  first  attack  of  illness, 

when  ho  thought,  ma^  be,  the  end  wasna  far  awav." 

"  About  our  all  staging  together  while  we  could.  Yes,  you 
told  me." 

"Yes,  love,  and  how  he  trvsted  in  you,  that  you  would 
/  always  be,  to  yom*  brothers  and  Rose,  all  that  your  mother 

would  have  been  if  she  had  been  spared  ;  and  how  siu-o  he 
was  that  you  would  ever  think  less  of  yourself  than  of  them. 
My  dear,  it  should  not  be  a  hght  thing  that  would  make  you 
give  \\\)  the  tmst  your  father  left  to  you." 

"  But,  Janet,  it  is  so  chfferent  now.  "Wlicn  we  first  came 
here,  the  thought  that  my  father  wished  ils  to  keep  together 
made  me  ^villiug  and  glad  to  stay  even  when  Arthur  had  to 
stnigglc  hard  to  make  the  ends  meet.  I  knew  it  was  better 
for  him  and  for  Harry,  as  well  as  for  us.  But  it  is  different 
now.  Artlnu'  has  no  need  of  us,  and  would  soon  content 
himself  without  u,s,  though  he  may  tjiink  he  would  not ;  and 
it  may  be  years  before  tliis  can  Ije  Will.'s  home  again.  It 
may  never  be  his  home,  nor  HaiTy's  either." 

"  My  dear,  it  will  be  Hariy's  home,  and  Will.'s,  too,  while 
it  is  yours.  Then-  hearts  will  aye  turn  to  it  as  homo,  and 
they  woiddna  do  so  if  you  were  only  coming  and  going. 
And  as  for  Mr.  Arthur,  Miss  CJraemc,  I  put  it  to  yourself, 
if  he  were  loft  alone  with  that  bonny  wee  wife  of  his,  would 
his  home  be  to  him  \\\v\i  it  is  now  ?  AVould  the  companion- 
ship of  yon  baim  sutlice  for  his  hapi)iness':'" 

"It  ought  to  do  so.  A  man's  wife  ought  to  bo  to  luiu 
more  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  when  it  is  written,  '  A 
man  shall  lea^e  all,  and  cleave  to  his  wife.'  Married  people 
ought  to  sufiico  for  one  another." 


r" 


k   I 


420 


JANKT  S    I.OVK    AND    BERVICE. 


;>!       ;•! 


It  \ 


ifll 


"  Well,  it  may  bo.  And  if  you  were  leaving;-  your  brother's 
house  for  a  bouse  of  your  own,  or  if  you  were  cominf^  with 
us,  as  iny  husband  S(.'ems  to  have  set  his  heart  on,  I  would 
think  it  different.  Not  that  I  am  sure  of  it  myself,  much  as 
it  would  delight  me  to  have  you.  For  your  brother  iiceds 
you,  and  your  bonny  new  sister  needs  you.  Have  patience 
with  her,  and  with  yourself,  and  you  will  make  something  of 
her  in  time.  She  loves  you  deai*ly,  though  she  is  not  at  all 
times  very  considerate  of  you." 

Graeme  was  silent.  AVhat  could  she  say  after  this,  to  prove 
that  she  could  not  stay,  that  she  must  go  away.  WTiere 
could  she  turn  now  ?  She  rose  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  is  growing  dark.  I  will  get  a  light.  But,  Janet,  you 
must  let  me  say  one  tliuig.  You  are  not  to  think  it  is  be- 
cause of  Fanny  that  I  want  to  go  away.  At  first,  I  was  un- 
happy— I  may  say  so,  now  that  it  is  all  over.  It  was  less  for 
m}se]i  and  Eose  than  for  Arthur.  I  didn't  think  Fanny 
good  enough  for  him.  And  then,  everything  was  so  differ- 
ent, ii  '  &-  vhilo  it  seemed  impossible  for  me  to  stay.  Fanny 
was  not  so  considerate  as  she  might  have  been,  about  our  old 
friends,  and  about  household  affairs,  and  about  Nelly,  and 
all  that.  Arthur  saw^  nothing,  and  Rosie  got  vexed  some- 
times. Will,  preached  patience  to  us  both;  you  know,  gen- 
tlemen camiot  understand  many  tilings  that  may  be  vexa- 
tious to  us  ;  and  we  were  very  uncomfortable  for  a  while.  I 
don't  think  Fanny  was  so  much  to  blame;  but  her  mother 
seemed  to  fancy  that  the  new  mistress  of  the  house  was  not 
to  be  allowed  to  have  hor  place' without  a  struggle.  ^\j-thur 
saw  nothing  wrong.  It  was  laughable,  and  u-ritating,  too, 
sometimes,  to  see  how  blind  he  was.  But  it  was  far  better 
he  tlid  not.     I  can  see  that  now." 

"  W^ell,  we  went  on  iv  this  way  a  while.  I  daresay  a  good 
deal  of  it  was  my  faidt.  I  think  I  was  patient  and  forbear- 
ing, and  I  am  quite  sure  I  gave  Faiuiy  her  own  place  from 
the  very  first.  But  I  was  not  cheerful,  partly  because  of  the 
changes,  and  all  those  httlo  things,  and  piu-tly  for  other  rea- 
sons.    And  I  am  not  demonstrative  in  my  friendliness,  like 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


421 


ar  brother's 
■orniDf,'  Avitli 
on,  I  would 
'If,  much  as 
>thcr  ticeds 
vc  patience 
mething  of 
is  uot  at  all 

lis,  to  prove 
ly.     WTiere 

Janet,  you 
ink  it  is  be- 
;,  I  was  un- 
was  less  for 
ink  Fanny 
3  so  diifer- 
y.     Fanny 
)ut  our  old 
Nelly,  and 
)xed  some- 
cnow,  gen- 
be  vexa- 
whtle.     I 
er  mother 
was  not 
Ai-thur 
iting,  too, 
far  better 

ly  a  good 
I  forbcar- 
aco  from 
se  of  the 
;her  rca- 
tiess,  like 


Rosie,  you  know.  Fanny  soon  came  to  be  quite  frank  and 
nice  with  llosie,  and,  by  and  by,  with  me  too.  And  now, 
everything  grjcs  on  just  as  it  ought  with  us.  Tluro  is  no 
coldness  between  us,  and  you  raust  not  think  there  is,  or  that 
it  is  because  of  Fanny  I  raust  go  away." 

She  paused,  and  began  to  aiTang  i  the  lamp. 

"Never  mind  the  hght,  dear,  imless  yoiu"  work  canna  be 
left,"  said  ]\Ii*s.  Snow  ;  and  in  a  little  Graeme  came  and  sat 
dovni  again. 

"  And  about  Fanny's  not  being  good  enough  for  Arthur," 
she  went  on.  "If  people  really  love  one  another,  other 
tilings  don't  seem  to  make  so  much  diirercnce.  Arthur  is  con- 
tented. And  Janet,  I  don't  think  I  am  altogether  selfish  in 
my  wish  to  go  away.  It  is  not  entii-ely  for  my  own  sake,  I 
think  it  would  bo  better  for  them  both  to  be  left  to  each 
other  for  a  httlo  while.  If  Fanny  has  faults,  it  is  better 
that  Arthur  should  know  them  for  the  sake  of  both — that  ho 
may  learn  to  have  patience  with  them,  and  that  she  may 
learn  to  correct  them.  It  is  _  (artly  for  them,  as  well  as  for 
Hose  and  me.     For  myself,  I  must  have  a  change." 

"  You  didna  use  to  wearv  for  changes.  What  is  the  rea- 
son  now  ?  You  may  tell  me,  dear,  sm'ely.  There  can  be  no 
reason  that  I  may  not  know  V" 

Janet  spoke  softly,  and  laid  her  hand  lovingly  on  that  of 
Graeme. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  laiow.  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  ciied,  with  a 
sudden  movement  away  from  her  friend.  "  The  very  spirit 
of  um'ost  seems  to  have  gotten  possession  of  mo.  I  am  tired 
doing  nothing,  I  suppose.  I  want  real  earnest  work  to  do, 
and  have  it  I  will."'     She  rose  hastily,  but  sat  down  again. 

"  xVnd  so  you  thmk  you  would  like  to  keep  a  school  V"  said 
Mrs.  Snow,  quietly. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know.  I  only  said  that,  becaiisc  I  did  not 
know  what  else  I  could  do.     It  would  bo  work." 

"Ay.  School-keeping  is  said  to  be  hard  work,  and  thank- 
less, often.  And  I  daresay  it  is  no  Ijetter  than  it  is  called. 
But,  my  dear,  if  it  is  the  work  you  want,  and  not  the  wages, 


r  I 


422 


Janet's  love  and  sEimcE. 


if'l 


I 


1.H 


f 


pfi. 


1.^^ 


m 


;'y 


Huroly  amonf^  tlio,  tliousiiiulH  of  this  p^roat  town,  you  nii^ht 
lind  aomi'thinj^  to  do,  sonui  work  for  the  Lord,  and  for  his 
people.  Have  you  never  thouglit  about  working  in  that  way 
dear  V" 

(Iraeme  had  thought  of  it  many  a  time.  Of  ten  had  she 
giicvedovor  tlic  neglected  little  ones,  looking  out  upon  her 
from  narrow  lan(>s  and  alleys,  with  pale  faces,  and  great 
liungry  eyes.  Often  had  the  fainting  hearts  of  toilers  in  tlie 
WTetched  placcK  of  the  city  been  sustained  and  comforted  by  • 
her  kind  words  and  her  alms-deeds.  There  were  many  hum- 
ble dwellings  within  sight  of  her  home,  where  her  face  came 
like  sunlight,  and  her  voice  like  music.  But  these  were 
the  pleasures  of  her  life,  enjoyed  in  secret.  This  was  not  the 
work  that  was  to  make  her  life  worthy,  the  work  for  God 
and  man  that  was  to  fill  the  void  in  her  life,  and  still  the 
pain  in  her  heart.     So  she  only  said,  quietly, 

"  It  is  not  nmch  that  one  can  do.  And,  indeed,  I  have  lit- 
tle time  that  is  not  occupied  with  sometliing  that  cannot  be 
neglected,  though  it  can  hardly  be  called  work.  I  cannot  tell 
you,  but  what  with  the  littlt;  things  to  be  cared  for  at  home, 
the  visits  to  be  made,  and  engagements  of  one  kind  or  other, 
httlo  time  is  left.  I  don't  know  how  I  could  make  it  other- 
wise.    My  time  is  not  at  my  own  disjiosal." 

Mrs.  Snow  assented,  and  Graeme  went  on. 

"  I  suppose  I  might  do  more  of  that  sort  of  work — carizig 
for  poor  people,  I  mean,  by  joining  societies,  and  getting  my- 
self put  on  committees,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  I  don't 
tliink  I  am  suited  for  it,  and  there  are  plenty  who  lilce  it. 
However,  1  daresay,  that  is  a  mere  excuse.  Don't  you  mind, 
Janet,  how  IMi's.  Page  used  to  labor  with  me  about  the  sewing 
meetings." 

"  Yes,  I  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
was  tlunkhig  of  something  else.  In  a  little  she  said,  hesita- 
tingly : 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  you  speak  as  though  there  were 
nothing  between  living  in  your  brother's  house,  and  keeping 


Janet's  lovi:  and  bervice. 


423 


a  school.  Have  you  never  gliuiccMl  at  the  possihility  that 
sc^metiinc  you  may  have  a  house  of  your  (^wn  to  ko(»p." 

(Iraenio  laujjfhetl. 

"  Will,  said  that  to  mo  once.  Yea,  I  have  thought  about  it. 
But  the  possihility  is  such  a  Rli<ifht  one,  that  it  is  hardly  ^vorth 
while  to  take  it  into  account  in  makhiff  plans  for  the  futiu'o." 

"And  wherefore  not  ?"  demanded  jNIrs.  Snow. 

"  Wherefore  not  ?"  echoed  Graeme.  "  I  can  only  say,  that 
hero  lam  at  six  and  twenty;  and  the  proloabilities  as  to  mar- 
riage don't  usually  increase  with  the  years,  after  that.  Fan- 
ny's fears  on  my  account  luive  some  foundation.  Janet,  do 
you  mind  the  song  foolish  Jeaii  used  to  sing  ? 

*  The  lads  that  cast  a  gUinco  at  mo 

I  dinna  care  to  bgo, 
And  tho  hids  that  I  would  look  at 

Winini  look  at  mo.' 


"  W'ell,  dear,  you  mustna  bo  angiy  though  I  say  it,  but 
you  may  bo  ower  ill  to  please.  I  told  you  that  before,  you  '11 
mind." 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  mind.  But  I  convinced  you  of  your  error. 
Indeed,  I  look  upon  myself  as  an  object  for  commiseration 
rather  than  blame  ;  so  you  mustna  look  cross,  and  you 
mustna  look  too  pitiful  either,  for  I  am  going  to  prove  to 
you  and  Fanny  and  all  the  rest  that  an  old  maid  is,  by  no 
means,  an  object  of  pity.     Quito  the  contraiy." 

"  But,  my  dear,  it  seems  strange-like,  and  not  quite  right 
for  you  to  be  setting  your  face  against  what  is  plainly  or- 
dained as  woman's  lot.  It  is  no'  aye  an  easy  or  a  pleasant 
one,  as  many  a  poor  woman  kens  to  her  sorrow  ;  but " 

"  But,  Janet,  you  are  mistaken.  I  am  not  setting  my  face 
against  anything  ;  but  why  should  you  blame  me  for  what  I 
canna  help  ?  And,  besides,  it  is  not  ordained  that  every 
woman  should  marry.  They  say  mamed  life  is  hai^pior,  and 
all  that ;  but  a  woman  may  be  happy  and  useful,  too,  in  a 
single  life,  even  if  the  liigher  happiness  be  denied  her." 


i  t 


424 


JAXKTS    LOVE    AXD    SEItVICK. 


I: 


I" 


■!i 


•  » 


"  But,  my  dear,  what  ailotl  yon  at  him  you  sent  away  tho 
othor  woc'k — him  that  I^)sio  was  tcUin;^  mo  ofV  " 

"  U'>sio  had  httlo  to  do  tclliii},'' you  aiiythin-,' of  the  kind. 
Nothing'  particular  ailed  luc  at  him.  I  liked  him  very  I'dl 
till .     But  we  won't  speak  of  it." 

"  Was  he  not  {,food  enough  ?  He  was  a  Cliristian  man, 
and  well  off,  and  well-looking.  What  said  yoiu'  brother  to 
your  refusal  ?  "  persisted  Janet. 

"  Oh  !  he  said  notliing.  "What  could  he  say  ?  He  would 
liave  known  nothing  about  it  if  I  had  had  my  will.  A  woman 
must  decide  these  things  for  herself.  I  did  what  I  thought 
right.     I  coidd  not  have  done  otherwise." 

"  But,  mv  love,  vou  should  consider " 

"  Janet,  I  did  consider.  I  considered  so  long  that  I  came 
very  near  doing  a  wrong  thuig.  Because  he  was  Arthur's 
fi-iend,  and  because  it  seems  to  bo  woman's  lot,  and  in  the 
common  course  of  things,  and  because  I  was  restless  and 
discontented,  and  not  at  peace  with  myself,  and  nothing 
seemed  to  matter  to  me,  I  was  very  near  saying  *  Yes,'  and 
going  with  him,  though  I  cared  no  more  for  him  than  for 
half  a  dozen  others  whom  you  have  seen  here.  AVhat  do  you 
think  of  that  for  consideration  ?  " 

"  That  would  have  been  a  great  wrong  both  to  him  and 
to  yourself.  I  canna  think  you  would  ever  be  so  sinful  as 
to  give  the  hand  where  the  heart  is  withheld.  But,  my  dear, 
you  might  mistate.  ITiere  are  more  kinds  of  love  than 
one ;  at  least  there  are  many  manifestations  of  true  love  ; 
and,  at  yom*  age,  you  are  no'  to  expect  to  have  your  heart 
and  fancy  taken  utterly  captive  by  any  man.  You  have  too 
nnich  sen.se  for  the  hke  of  that." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Graeme.     "  I  ought  to  have  at  my  age." 

It  was  gi'o\ving  quite  dark — too  dark  for  Mrs.  Snow  to  see 
Graeme's  troubled  face  ;  but  she  knew  that  it  was  troubled 
by  the  sound  of  her  voice,  by  the  weary  postui'e  into  which 
she  di'Otjped,  and  by  mary  another  token. 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  friend,  earnestly,  "  the  wild  carrying 
away  of  the  fancy,  that  it  is  growing  the  fashion  to  call  love, 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AM)   SKKVICK. 


425 


is  not  to  be  clcsircd  at  any  afrc.  I  am  not  (l('nviii2:  that  it 
comes  in  youth  uith  ^rciit  power  aiul  swcetncsH,  as  it  oaine 
to  vour  father  and  mother,  as  I  miml  well,  and  as  vou  liiive 
heard  yourself.  Bat  it  docsna  always  brin^  happiness.  The 
Lord  is  kind,  and  cares  for  those  who  rush  blindly  to  tlicir 
fate  ;  but  to  many  a  one  such  wild  captivity  of  heart  is  but 
the  forerunner  of  Ijitter  pain,  for  which  there  is  no  help  but 
just  to  *  thole  it,'  as  they  say." 

Sho  paused  a  moment,  but  Graeme  chd  not,  by  the  move- 
ment of  a  linger,  indicate  that  she  had  anything  to  say  in 
reply. 

"  ]\Iutual  respect,  and  the  quiet  esteem  that  one  friend 
gives  to  another  who  is  worthy,  is  a  far  surer  foundation  for 
a  hfotime  of  happiness  to  those  who  have  the  fear  of  God 
before  their  eyes,  and  it  is  just  possible,  my  dear,  that  you 
may  lin^'o  been  mistaken." 

"  It  is  just  possible,  and  it  is  too  late  now,  you  see,  Janet. 
But  I  '11  keep  all  you  have  been  saying  hi  mind,  and  it  may 
stand  me  in  stead  for  another  time,  you  ken." 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  there  was  ui  her  voice  an  echo  of 
bitterness  and  pain  that  her  friend  could  ncjt  bear  to  hear  ; 
and  when  she  raised  herself  uj)  to  go  away,  as  though  there 
were  nothing  more  to  bo  said,  Janet  laid  her  hand  lightly 
but  firmly  on  her  shoulder,  and  said, 

'•  My  dear,  you  are  not  to  be  vexed  with  what  I  have  said. 
Do  you  think  I  can  have  any  wish  but  to  see  }-ou  useful  and 
happy  ?     You  surely  dinna  doubt  me,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  vexed,  Janet,"  said  she.  "  And  who  could  I 
tnist  if  I  doubted  you  ?  " 

"  And  you  are  not  to  tliink  that  I  am  meaning  any  disre- 
spect to  youi'  new  sister,  if  I  say  it  is  no  wonder  tlisit  I  dinna 
find  you  quite  content  here.  And  when  I  tliir. !.  >•'  the  home 
that  your  mother  made  so  happy,  I  eanna  but  wish  to  see 
you  in  a  home  of  your  own." 

"  But  happiness  is  not  ^  ae  only  thing  to  be  desired  in  this 
world,"  (iraeme  forced  herself  to  say. 

"  No,  love,  nor  the  chief  thing — that  is  true,"  said  I^fi  s.  Snow. 


42<] 


JANKTS    LOVi:    AND   SIIRVICK. 


In 

h 


1.1, 


m 


"  And  even  if  it  were,"  continued  Graeme,  "  there  is  more 
tliiin  one  way  to  look  for  hiipj^ine.ss.  It  Kerins  to  mo  tho 
duuu'es  of  hapi>ine.ss  are  not  ho  unequal  in  single  and  mar- 
ried life  as  is  generally  supposed." 

"  You  niayna  bo  tho  best  judge  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Snow, 
gi'avely. 

*'  No,  I  suiipose  not,"  said  Graeme,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  I 
have  no  patienec  with  the  nonsenso  that  is  talked  a)  *  old 
maids.  AVhy  !  it  seems  to  bo  thought  if  a  woman  .Aica 
thirty,  still  single,  she  has  failed  in  hfe,  she  has  missed  tho 
end  of  her  creation,  as  it  were  ;  and  by  and  by  people  begin 
to  look  upon  her  as  an  objeet  of  pity,  not  to  say  of  contempt. 
In  this  very  room  I  have  heard  shallow  men  and  women 
speak  in  that  way  of  some  who  are  doing  a  worthy  work  for 
God  and  man  in  the  world." 

"  My  dear,  it  is  the  way  with  shallow  men  and  women  to 
put  things  in  the  wrong  places.  Why  should  you  be  sur- 
prised at  that  ?  " 

"  But,  Janet,  more  do  it  than  these  people.  Don't  you 
mmd,  the  other  day,  when  Mrs.  Grove  was  repeating  ^hat 
absurd  story  about  Miss  Lester,  and  I  said  to  her  tlia  id 
not  believe  IMLss  Lester  would  marry  the  best  man  vi±  urn 
face  of  the  earth,  yon  said  in  a  wa}'  that  turned  the  laugh 
against  me,  that  you  doubted  the  best  man  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  wasna  in  her  offer." 

"  But,  Miss  Graeme,  I  meant  no  reflection  on  your  friend, 
though  I  said  that.  I  saw  by  the  shining  of  your  eyes,  and 
the  color  on  your  cheek,  that  you  were  in  earnest,  and  I 
thought  it  a  pity  to  waste  good  earnest  words  on  yon  shallow 
woman." 

"Well,"  said  Graeme,  with  a  long  breath,  "you  left  the 
impression  op  her  mind  that  you  thought  her  right  and  mo 


wr(jng. 


"  That  is  but  a  small  matter.  And,  my  dear,  I  am  no' 
sure,  and  you  canna  be  sure  either,  that  Mrs.  (irovo  was 
altogether  wrong.     If,  iu  her  }Outh,  some  good  man — not  to 


.isatii 


tlicro  is  more 
ns  to  mo  tho 
<j;lo  and  mar- 

tl  Mrs.  Snow, 

igh.  "  But  I 
;ed  a)  ■•*■  okl 
»nian  .i;lics 
,s  missed  tlio 
people  bcfjin 
of  contcmi>t. 
and  women 
thy  work  for 

id  women  to 
you  be  sur- 

Don't  you ' 
)eatinnr  *^hat 
r  tha  id 
nan  vi±  me 
II  the  laugh 
the  face  of 

-our  friend, 
eyes,  and 
lest,  and  I 
[on  shallow 

)u  loft  the 
fit  and  mo 

1 1  am  no' 
irove  was 
In — not  to 


JANKTS    LOVE    AND    SKKVrci:. 


4i>7 


Fay  the  l)cst  man  on  tho  face  of  tho  earth — had  oft' red  love 
to  your  friend,  are  voti  sure  she  would  have  refused  him  ?" 

"Tliero  I — that  is  just  what  I  dislike  so  nuic-li.  'I'hat  is  just 
"wliat  ^Irs.  Orovc  was  hintinj,'  with  roj^'ard  to  ^liss  Lesti  r. 
If  a  woman  lives  sinj^lo,  it  is  from  necessity — iiccordiii^  to 
the  jud^^'mcnt  of  a  discriminating  and  charitaMn  world.  T  ' 
knmr  that  is  not  the  case  with  regard  to  Miss  Lester.  ]5ut 
even  if  it  ^\ere,  if  no  man  had  ever  gi'aciou.  ly  signilic.'d  his 
approbation  of  her — if  she  were  an  old  maid  from  dire  neces- 
sity— docs  it  follow  that  slie  has  lost  her  chance  in  life? — that 
life  has  been  to  her  a  failure  ? 

"If  she  has  failed  in  life  ;  so  do  God's  angels,  Janet,  if  I 
could  only  tell  you  half  that  she  has  done !  I  am  not  ii)timate 
with  her,  but  I  have  many  ways  of  knowing  about  her.  If 
you  could  know  all  that  she  has  done  for  her  family !  She 
was  the  eldest  daughter,  and  her  mother  was  a  very  delicate, 
nervous  woman,  and  tho  charge  of  tlie  yomiger  children  fell 
to  her  when  she  was  rpiite  a  girl.  Then  when  her  fatlier 
failed,  she  opened  a  school,  and  the  whole  family  depended 
on  her.  She  helped  her  sisters  till  they  mameil,  and  liber- 
ally educated  her  younger  brothers,  and  now  she  is  bringing 
up  the  four  childi'on  of  one  of  them  who  died  young.  Her 
father  was  bedridden  for  several  \-ears  1  )efore  he  died,  and  ho 
lived  in  her  home,  and  she  watched  over  him,  and  cared  for 
him,  though  she  had  her  school.  And  she  has  prepared 
many  a  young  girl  for  a  life  of  usefuhiess,  who  but  for  her 
might  have  been  neglccitod  or  lost.  Half  of  the  good  she  has 
done  iri  this  way  will  never  be  known  on  earth.  And  to  hear 
women  who  are  not  worthy  to  tie  her  shoe,  passing  their  pa- 
tronizing or  theii*  disparaging  remarks  upon  her !  It  in- 
censes me !" 

*'  My  dear,  I  thought  you  were  past  being  incensed  at  any- 
thing yon  shallow  woman  can  say." 

"  But  she  is  not  the  onl}'  one.  Even  Arthur  .soinctiiues 
provokes  me.  Because  she  has  by  her  laborious  profession 
made  herself  independent,  he  jestingly  talks  about  her  bank 


M 

'• 

t 

1 

1 

I 


i 


III 


r^ 


428 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


Hiodk,  and  about  licr  being  a  good  spGciilation  for  .some  needy 
old  goatlcnian.  And  because  that  beautiful,  soft  gi'cy  haii* 
of  lu  i\s  will  ciu'l  about  her  pale  face,  it  is  hinted  that  sho 
niakos  the  most  of  her  remaining  attractions,  and  -would  be 
nothing  loth.     It  is  de.spicable." 

"  Bui,  my  dear,  it  would  be  no  discredit  to  her  if  it  were 
proved  that  slie  would  many.  She  has  a  young  face  yet, 
thongli  her  hair  is  gi*ey,  and  she  may  have  many  years  before 
her.     Why  should  she  not  marry  ?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Graeme,  with  gi-eat  impatience  ; 
"  and  yet,  as  you  say,  why  should  sho  not  ?  But  that  is  not 
the  question.  "What  I  declare  is,  tljat  her  single  life  has  been 
an  honoi'able  and  an  honored  one — and  a  happy  one  too. 
Who  can  doubt  it  ?  There  is  no  nianicd  woman  of  my  ac- 
quaintance whose  life  will  compare  with  hers.  And  the  higli 
place  she  will  get  in  heaven,  will  bo  for  no  work  she  will  do 
as  'Sim.  Dale,  though  she  were  to  marrv  the  Reverend  Doctor 
to-m'ght,  but  for  the  blessed  success  that  God  has  given  her 
in  her  \Aork  as  a  single  woman." 

"  I  believe  you,  dear,"  said  ^L*s.  Snow,  wannly. 

"  And  she  is  not  the  only  one  I  could  name,"  C(mtinued 
Graeme.  "  She  is  my  favorite  example,  because  her  position 
and  talents,  her  earnest  nature  and  her  piety,  make  her  work 
a  wonderful  one.  But  I  know  many,  and  have  heard  of 
more,  who  in  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  way  are  doing  a  work,  not 
so  great  as  to  results,  but  as  true  and  holy.  Soine  of  them 
are  douig  it  as  aunts  or  maiden  sisters  ;  some  as  teachers  ; 
some  are  only  humble  needlewomen  ;  some  are  servants  in 
other  people's  kitchens  or  nurseries — women  who  would  be 
spoken  of  l)y  the  pitying  or  slighting  name  of  '  old  maid,'  wlio 
are  yet  more  worthy  of  respect  for  the  work  they  are  doi.ag, 
and  for  the  inlluence  they  arc  exerting,  than  many  a  mar- 
rii'd  woman  in  hor  sph.cre.  ^^^ly  should  such  a  woman  ))o 
piiied  or  despised,  I  wonder  ?" 

"Miss  tiiraeme,  you  look  as  though  you  thought  I  was 
among  ihti  pitiers  and  despisers  of  such  women,  and  you  arc 
Avrong.     Every  word  you  say  in  their  praise  and  honor  is 


11 1'i 


31'  some  needy 
soft  gi'cy  hail' 
iiitccl  that  she 
and  -would  bo 

her  if  it  were 
Diiiig  face  yet, 
y  years  before 

t  impatience  ; 
[\t  that  is  not 
!  life  has  been 
ippy  one  too. 
lan  of  my  ac- 
And  the  high 
fk  she  will  do 
ereud  Doctor 
has  given  her 


,"  continued 

her  position 

ike  her  work 

re  heard  of 

a  work,  not 

)me  of  them 

as  teachers ; 

servants  in 

lo  would  be 

maid,'  wJio 

'  are  d(ji;ig, 

umy  a  mar- 

WOlUa!!   1)0 

ight  I  was 
bid  you  are 
lid  honor  is 


Janet's  love 

AND    SERVICE. 

42t) 

truth,  and 

caniia  be  gainsaid. 

But  that  doesna 

prove  what 

you  began 

wit 

h,  that  the  chances  of  happiness 

in  married 

and  single  life 

are  equal." 

"  It  goes 

far 

to  prove  it — the  chances  of  usefulness, 

at  any 

rate." 

"  No,  my  dear,  because  I  dai'o  say,  on  the  other  hand, 
many  could  be  told  of  who  fail  to  do  their  work  in  single  life, 
and  who  fail  to  get  happiness  in  it  as  well.  Put  the  one  class 
over  against  the  other,  and  then  consider  the  many,  many 
women  who  mari-y  for  no  other  reason  than  fi'om  the  fear  of 
li^ing  single,  it  will  go  far  to  account  for  the  many  unhappy 
marriages  that  wo  see,  and  far  to  prove  that  marriage  is  the 
natiu'al  and  proper  expctation  of  woman,  and  that  in  a  sense 
she  ihf'H  fail  in  life,  who  falls  shoi*t  of  that.  In  a  certain 
sense,  I  say." 

"  But  it  docs  not  follow  from  that  that  she  is  thenc(^forth 
to  be  an  object  of  pity  or  derision,  a  spectacle  to  men  and 
angels !" 

"  "SMiist,  my  dear  ;  no,  that  doesna  follow  of  necessity. 
That  depends  on  herself  somewhat,  though  not  altogothev, 
and  there;  are  too  many  single  women  who  makt>  spectacles 
of  themselves  in  one  way  or  other.  But,  my  dear,  what  I  say 
is  this  :  As  the  world  is,  it  is  no  easy  thing  for  a  woman  to 
warstle  through  it  alone,  and  tlie  help  she  needs  she  can  get 
better  from  her  husband  than  from  any  other  friend.  And 
though  it  is  a  single  woman's  duty  to  take  her  lot  and  make 
the  best  of  it,  with  God's  help,  it  is  no'  to  I5e  denied,  that  it  is 
not  the  lot  a  woman  would  c.ioose.  IMy  saving  it  doesna 
make  it  true,  but  ask  you  the  women  to  whom  you  justly 
give  so  high  a  place,  hoAv  it  was  with  them.  "Was  it  their 
own  fi'ee  choice  that  put  them  where  they  are  'i  If  tluy  spetik 
the  tnith,  they  will  say  'No.'  Either  no  man  asked  them — 
though  that  is  rare — or  else  in  youth  they  hav(;  had  their 
work  laid  ready  to  th('ir  hands.  Tliev  had  a  fatlier  and 
mother,  or  brothers  and  sisters,  that  tluy  could  not  forstike 
for  a  stranger.  Or  they  gave  their  love  unsought,  and  had 
none  to  give  when  it  was  asked.     Or  they  fell  out  with  their 


liMi    f 


430 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


'i     I 


til    .(■ 


iH 


lovers,  or  another  wiled  them  away,  or  death  divided  them. 
Sometimes  a  woman'H  life  passes  quietly  and  busily  away, 
with  no  thoughts  of  the  future,  till  one  day  she  wakes  up  with 
a  great  start  of  surprise  and  pain,  to  the  knowledge  that  her 
youth  is  past — that  she  is  an  '  old  maid.'  And  if  a  chance 
oflfer  comes  then,  ten  to  one  but  she  shuts  her  eyes,  and  lays 
hold  on  the  hand  that  is  held  out  to  her — so  feared  is  she  of 
the  solitary  life  before  her." 

"  And,"  said  Graeme,  in  a  low  voice,  "  God  is  good  to  her 
if  she  has  not  a  sadder  wakening  soon." 

"  It  is  possible,  my  dear,  but  ^i  proves  the  truth  of  what  I 
was  saying,  all  the  same  ;  that  it  is  sekh  jy  a  woman's  free 
choice  that  she  finds  herself  alone  in  life.  Sometimes,  but  not 
often,  a  woman  sits  down  and  counts  the  cost,  and  chooses 
a  solitary  path.  It  is  not  every  wise  man  that  can  discern  a 
strong  and  beautiful  spirit,  if  it  has  its  home  in  an  unlovely 
form,  and  many  such  are  passed  by  with  a  slighting  look,  or 
are  never  seen  at  all.  It  is  possible  that  such  a  woman  may 
have  the  sense  to  see,  that  a  sohtary  life  is  happmess  com- 
pared with  the  pam  and  shame  a  true  woman  must  feel  in 
ha\ang  to  look  down  upon  her  husband ;  and  so  when  the 
wise  and  the  wortlij'  pass  by,  she  turns  her  eyes  from  all 
others,  and  says  to  herself  and  to  the  world,  with  wliat  heart 
she  may,  that  she  has  no  need  of  help.  But  does  that  end 
the  pain  ?  Does  it  make  her  strong  to  say  it  ?  May  not  the 
sh'ght  implied  in  being  overlooked  rankle  in  her  heart  till  it 
is  changed  an<.l  liardened?  I  am  afraid  the  many  single 
women  we  see  and  hear  of,  who  hve  to  themselves,  giving  no 
sympath}'  and  seeking  none,  proves  it  past  all  denying.  'My 
dear,  folk  may  say  what  they  like  about  w  jman's  sphere  and 
woman's  mission — and  great  nonsense  they  have  spoken  of 
late — but  every  true  woman  kens  well  that  her  liglit  sphere 
is  a  homo  of  her  own,  and  that  her  mission  is  to  find  her 
happiness  in  the  happiness  of  her  husband  and  chilch'en. 
There  are  exceptional  cascn,  do  doubt,  but  that  is  the  law  of 
nature.  Though  why  I  should  be  saying  all  this  to  you,  IMiss 
Graeme,  my  dear,  is  mair  than  I  ken.'' 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


431 


divided  them. 
I  busily  away, 
wakes  up  with 
ilf ug-e  that  her 
hI  if  a  chance 
ojes,  and  Lavs 
iared  is  she  of 

is  good  to  lier 

ith  of  what  I 
woman's  fi-ee 
times,  but  not 
,  and  chooses 
can  discern  a 
I  an  unlovely 
tting  look,  or 

wonjan  may 
^ipmcss  corn- 
must  feel  in 
so  when  the 

es  from  all 

what  heart 
)es  that  end 

!\v  not  the 

leart  till  it 

!iny  single 

giving  no 

Lving.     My 

pherc  and 

spoken  of 

lit  sphere 

o  find  her 

chilth'en. 

ho  law  of 

you,  Bliss 


There  was  a  long  silence  after  this.  Mrs.  Snow  knew  well 
that  Graeme  sat  without  reply  because  she  would  not  have 
the  conversation  come  back  to  her,  or  to  home  affairs,  again. 
Bu  b.er  friend  had  somctliingniore  to  say,  and  though  hor heart 
ached  for  the  paui  she  might  give,  she  could  not  leave  it  unsaid, 

"  We  were  speakmg  about  your  friend  and  tlie  work  she 
has  been  honored  to  do.  It  is  a  great  work,  and  she  is  a 
noble  woman.  God  bless  her !  And,  dear,  though  I  dinna 
like  the  thought  of  your  leaving  your  brother's  house,  it  is  not 
because  I  dinna  think  that  you  might  put  your  hand  to  the 
same  work  with  the  same  success.  I  am  sure  vou  could  do, 
in  that  way,  a  good  work  fer  God  and  man.  It  is  partly  that 
I  am  shy  of  new  schemes,  and  partly  because  I  am  sure  the 
restlessness  that  is  urging  you  to  it  will  pass  away  ;  but  it  is 
chieflv  because  I  think  you  have  good  and  holv  work  laid  to 
your  hand  already.  Whatever  you  moy  think  now,  dear, 
they  are  far  better  and  happier  here  at  home,  and  will  be  all 
their  lives,  because  of  j'ou. 

"I'm  no'  sajnng  but  you  might  go  away  for  a  wee  while. 
The  change  would  do  you  good.  You  will  come  with  us,  or 
you  will  follow  after,  if  you  like  it  bottci  ;  and  then  you 
might  take  your  sister,  and  go  and  sec  your  brother  Nonnan, 
and  your  wee  nephew,  as  we  spoke  of  the  other  day.  But 
this  is  your  home,  love,  and  here  lies  jom*  work,  believe  me. 
And,  my  bairn,  the  restless  fever  of  your  heart  will  pass 
away ;  not  so  soon,  maybe,  as  if  it  had  come  upon  you 
earlier  in  life,  or  as  if  you  were  of  a  lighter  nature.  But  it 
will  pass.  Whist!  my  darling,"  for  Graeme  had  risen  with 
a  ge^iture  of  entreaty  or  denial.  "  "Wliist,  love.  I  am  not 
askmg  about  its  coming  or  its  causes.  I  am  only  bidding 
you  have  patience  till  it  pass  away." 

Graeme  sat  down  again  without  a  word.  They  sat  a  long 
time  quite  silent,  and  when  Graeme  spoke,  it  was  to  wonder 
that  Arthur  and  the  others  were  not  come  home. 

"They  must  have  gone  to  the  lecture,  after  all,  but  that 
must  be  over  by  this  time.  They  will  be  as  liuugiy  as  liawks. 
I  must  go  and  speak  to  Sarah." 


432 


JANET  a    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


i     •:. 


And  she  went  away,  s.ayin;:^  sadly  and  a  little  bitterly  to 
herself,  tliat  the  I'rioiid  on  whose  kinduesH  and  counsel  she 
had  relied,  had  failed  her  in  her  time  of  need.  * 

"  lint  I  niiLst  go  all  the  same.  I  cannot  stay  to  die  by  slow 
degi'ccs,  of  sloth,  or  weariness,  or  tliscontent,  whichever  it  may 
be.  Oh  me !  And  I  thought  the  Avorst  was  past,  and  Janet 
says  it  will  never  be  quite  past,  till  I  am  gi'own  old." 

And  Janet  sat  with  reverent,  half-averted  eyes,  seeing  the 
son'ow,  that  in  trying  to  hide,  the  child  of  lier  love  had  so 
plainly  revealed.  She  knew  tliat  words  arc  j)owerless  to  help 
the  soreness  of  such  wounds,  and  yet  she  chid  herself  that 
she  had  so  failed  to  comfort  heii  She  knew  that  Graeme 
had  come  to  her  in  the  vague  hope  for  help  and  counsel,  and 
that  she  w  as  saving  now  to  herself  that  her  friend  had  failed 
her. 

"  For,  what  could  I  say  ?  I  couldna  bid  her  go.  ■\Vhat 
good  would  that  do,  when  she  carries  her  care  ^^'ith  her? 
iVnd  it  is  not  for  the  like  of  her  to  vex  her  heart  out  with 
bau'ns,  keeping  at  a  school.  I  ken  her  better  than  she  kens 
herself.  Oh !  but  it  is  sad  to  think  that  the  best  comfort  I  can 
give  her,  is  to  look  the  other  way,  and  not  seem  to  see. 
"Well,  there  is  One  she  winna  seek  to  hide  her  trouble  from, 
and  He  can  comfort  her." 


^(^SWWT^Wl 


e  bitterly  to 
I  counsel  she 

0  (lie  by  slow 
[•hover  it  may 
st,  and  Janet 
old." 

}s,  seeing  the 

love  bad  so 

Li'lcss  to  heli3 

1  herself  that 
that  Graeme 

counsel,  and 
!nd  had  failed 

Dr  go.  What 
re  with  her? 
icart  out  with 
ban  she  kens 
comfort  I  can 
seem  to  see. 
I'ouble  from, 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE  only  event  of  unportance  that  occurred  before  IHi's. 
Snow  went  av.ay,  was  the  return  of  Nelly.  She  camo 
in  ui^on  them  one  morning,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  break- 
fast room,  with  more  shamefacedness  than  could  be  easily  ac- 
counted for  at  the  fii'st  moment.  And  then  she  told  them 
she  was  mairied.  Her  sudden  departure  had  been  the  means 
of  bringing  Mr.  Stirling  to  a  knowledge  of  his  own  mind  on 
the  matter  of  wedlock,  and  he  had  followed  her  to  her  Mister's, 
and  "  married  her  out  of  hand."  Of  com'so,  she  was  projDcrly 
congi'atulated  by  them  all,  but  Eosc  was  inclined  to  be  indig- 
nant. ' 

* 

"  You  promised  that  I  was  to  be  bridesmaid,  and  I  think 
it  is  quite  too  bad  that  you  should  disappoint  me,"  said  shef 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  promised,  but  it  was  with  a  long  prosjiect 
of  waiting.  I  thought  your  own  turn  might  come  first,  ISIiss 
Rose.  He  didna  seem  in  a  huriy  about  it.  But  his  leisure 
was  over  when  I  v,as  faii'ly  away  out  of  reach.  So  he  camo 
after  me  to  my  sister's,  and  nothing  would  do,  but  back  I 
must  go  with  him.  He  couldna  see  what  difference  a  month 
or  two  could  make  in  a  thing  that  was  to  be  for  a  lifetime  ; 
and  my  sister  and  the  rest  up  there — they  sided  with  him. 
And  there  was  reason  in  it  I  couldna  deny  ;  so  we  just  went 
down  to  the  manse  one  morning,  and  had  it  over,  and  mo 
with  this  very  gown  on,  not  my  best  by  two  or  three.  He 
made  small  count  of  any  preparations  ;  so  you  Hve,  !Miss 
Eose,  I  couldna  well  help  myself ;  and  I  hope  it  will  all  be 
for  the  best." 

They  all  hoped  that,  and,  indeed,  it  was  not  to  l)e  douljted. 
But,  though  congi-atulating  Mrs.  Stii-liiig  heartily,  Graemo 
19  (433) 


M^ 


r    I. 


h  >        ,1, 


ll 


m 

m 

, 

i 

1 

1 

'1 

1 

1 

434 


JANET  S   LOVE    AND   SEIIVICE. 


was  gi-eatly  disappointed  for  tlicmselves.  She  had  been  look- 
ing forward  to  the  time  when,  Mrs.  'J'ihnan's  temporary  ser- 
vice over,  they  should  have  Xellyback  m  her  old  place  again; 
but  the  best  must  bo  made  of  it  now,  and  Nelly's  pleasure 
must  not  be  maiTed  by  a  suspicion  of  her  discontent.  So 
she  entered,  with  almost  as  much  eagerness  as  Rose,  into  a 
discussion  of  the  plans  of  the  newly  mamed  pair. 

"  And  is  the  market  garden  secured  ?  "  asked  she.  "  Or 
is  that  to  come  later?  " 

"It  will  not  be  for  a  -while  yet.  He  is  to  stay  where  he  is 
for  the  jiresent.  You  will  have  heard  that  IVIr.  Ruthven  and 
his  family  are  going  homo  for  a  while,  and  we  arc  to  stay  in 
the  house.  I  am  to  have  the  charge.  It  will  be  something 
coming  in  through  my  own  hands,  which  will  be  agreeable  to 
me,"  added  the  prudent  and  independent  Nelly. 

The  meetuig  of  Mrs.  Snow  and  Mrs.  Stirling  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  them  both.  They  had  much  to  say  to  one  an- 
other before  the  time  of  INIi-s.  Snow's  departure  came,  and  she 
heard  many  things  about  the  yoimg  people,  their  way  of  life, 
theu'  love  to  each  other,  and  then*  forbearance  with  Fanny 
and  her  friends,  which  she  would  never  have  heard  fi'om 
them.  She  came  to  have  a  great  resjiect  for  Mrs.  Stirhng's 
sense  and  judgment,  as  well  as  for  her  devotion  to  the  inter- 
ests of  the  young  people.  One  of  the  few  expeditions  under- 
taken by  her  was  to  choose  a  wedding  present  for  the  bride, 
and  Rose  had  the  satisfaction  of  helping  her  to  decide  upon 
a  set  of  spoons,  useful  and  beautiful  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
"  good  propei*ty  to  have,"  as  Mr.  Snow  justly  remarked, 
whether  they  used  them  or  not. 

The  day  of  departure  came  at  last.  "Will.,  Graeme,  and 
Rose  went  with  them  over  the  river,  and  Fanny  would  have 
liked  to  go,  too,  but  she  had  an  engagement  with  Mrs.  Grove, 
and  was  obliged  to  stay  at  home.  Arthur  was  to  be  at  the 
boat  to  see  them  off,  if  it  could  be  managed,  but  that  was 
doubtfid,  so  he  bade  them  good-bye  in  the  morning  before 
he  went  away.    There  was  a  crowd,  as  usual,  on  the  boat, 


id  been  look- 
mporary  scr- 

place  again; 
lly's  pleasnro 
iconteiit.     So 

Eose,  into  a 
r. 
d  she.     "Or 

f  where  he  is 
Ruthven  and 
ire  to  stay  in 
)e  something 
agi'eeable  to 

v.as  a  great 

v  to  one  an- 

lame,  and  she 

r  way  of  life, 

with  Fanny 

heard  from 

.rs.  Stirhng's 

to  the  inter- 

ttions  under- 

•r  the  bride, 

decide  upon 

time  ;  and 

remarked, 

rraeme,  and 
Iwould  have 
|Mrs.  Grove, 

to  be  at  the 
lut  that  w^as 

img  before 
the  boat, 


JANET  8    LOVE    AND    8EUVICE. 


435 


and  Graeme  made  haste  to  get  a  seat  with  ^Mrs.  Snow,  m  a 
quiet  corner  out  of  the  way. 

"Look,  Graeme,"  said  Rose.  "There  is  Mr.  Proutlfiite, 
and  there  ai'c  the  Roxljurys,  and  ever  so  many  more  people. 
And  tlicre  is  'Mv.  Ruthven.  I  wonder  if  they  are  gouig  away 
toHlay." 

"  I  don't  know.  Don't  let  us  get  into  the  crowd,"  said 
Graeme,  rather  hiu'riedly.  "  "VVe  shall  lose  the  good  of  the 
last  minutes.  Stay  hero  a  moment,  Will.,  and  see  wheth- 
er Arthur  comes.  I  wUl  find  a  seat  for  IVIrs.  Snow.  Let  us 
get  out  of  tlic  crowd." 

It  was  not  easy  to  do,  however,  and  they  were  obHged  to 
pass  quite  close  by  the  party  towards  which  Rose  had  been 
looking,  and  which  Graeme  had  intended  to  avoid. 

'•  "Who  is  that  pretty  creature  with  the  child  on  her  lap  ?  " 
asked  jMj's.  Snow,  with  much  interest.  "  You  bowed  to  her, 
I  think." 

"  Yes.  That  is  ]MJ.*s.  Ruthven.  I  suppose  they  are  going 
away  to-day.  I  should  like  to  say  good-bye  to  her,  but  there 
are  so  many  people  with  her,  and  I  am  not  siu'e  that  she 
knew  me,  though  she  bowed.  Ah  !  she  has  seen  Rosie.  They 
are  coming  over  hero." 

She  rose  and  went  to  meet  them  as  they  came  near. 

''  You  have  never  seen  my  baby,"  said  INL'S.  Ruthven, 
eagerly.     "  And  I  want  to  see  'Mrs.  Snow." 

Graeme  took  the  little  creature  in  her  anus. 

"No,  we  were  unfortunate  in  finding  you  out  when  wo 
caUed,  more  than  once — and  now  you  are  going  away." 

"  Yes,  we  are  going  away  for  a  httle  while.  I  am  so  glad  wo 
have  met  to-day.  I  only  heard  the  other  day  that  JIi's.  Snovv' 
had  come,  and  I  have  not  been  quite  strong,  and  they  would 
not  let  me  move  about.  I  am  so  very  glad  to  sec  you,"  added 
she,  as  she  took  Janet's  hand.  "  I  have  heard  your  name  so 
often,  that  I  seem  to  laiow  you  well." 

]Mrs.  Snow  looked  with  great  interest  on  the  lovely,  deUcato 
face,  that  smiled  so  sweetly  up  into  hers. 


430 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


"  I  have  heard  about  you,  too,"  said  she,  gravely.  "  And 
I  am  very  glad  that  we  chanced  to  meet  to-day.  And  you 
ai'e  going  home  to  Scotland  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  little  while.  I  have  not  been  quite  well,  and 
the  doctor  advises  the  voyage,  but  we  shall  be  home  again 
before  whiter,  I  hope,  or  at  the  latest,  in  the  spring." 

There  was  not  time  for  many  words.  Arthui*  came  at  the 
last  minute,  and  with  hun  Charlie  Millar.  Ho  held  out  his 
arms  for  the  boby,  but  she  would  not  look  at  him,  and  clung 
to  Greame,  who  clasped  her  softly. 

"  She  has  discrimination,  you  see,"  said  Charlie.  "  She 
knows  who  is  best  and  wisest." 

"  She  is  very  hke  what  Rosie  was  at  her  age,"  said  INIrs. 
Snow.     "  Don't  you  mind,  JVIiss  Graeme  ?'* 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  baby  !  "  said  Chaiiie.  "  Take  heart. 
The  wee  white  Lily  may  be  a  blooming  rose,  j^et — who 
knows?" 

"  You  have  changed,"  said  IMrs.  Snow,  as  Mr.  Euthven 
came  up  to  her  with  AVill. 

"  Yes,  I  have  changed  ;  and  not  for  the  better,  I  fear,"  said 
he,  gravely. 

"  I  do  not  say  that — though  the  world  and  it's  ways  do 
not  often  change  a  man  for  the  better.  Keep  it  out  of  yoiu' 
heart." 

There  was  only  time  for  a  word  or  two,  and  Graeme  would 
not  lose  the  last  minutes  with  their  fi'iend.  So  she  diew  her 
away,  and  turned  her  face  fi'om  them  all. 

"Oh,  Janet!  Must  you  go?  Oh!  if  we  only  could  go 
wiiih  you  !  But  that  is  not  what  I  meant  to  say.  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  been  here.  If  you  only  knew  how  much  good 
you  have  done  me  I  " 

"  Have  I  ?  "Well,  I  am  glad  if  I  have.  And  my  dear,  j^ou 
are  soon  to  follow  us,  you  ken  ;  and  .it  wdll  do  you  good  to 
get  back  for  a  little  while  to  the  old  place,  and  the  old  ways. 
God  has  been  very  good  to  you  all." 

"  Yes,  and  Janet,  you  are  not  to  think  me  altogether  un- 


■      "      *      UlJWjJi 


A-.. £^-.  MMM-^MSnW 


ve\y.     "  And 

7.     And  you 

ite  well,  and 
homo  again 
ing." 

came  at  the 
I  held  out  his 
Q,  and  clung 

arlio.     "  She 

,"  said  IMrs. 

'Take  heart, 
le,   yet — who 

»Ii'.  Ruthven 

I  fear,"  said 

't's  ways  do 
out  of  yoiu' 

laome  would 
iG  di'ew  her 

could  go 
1.     I  am  so 

I  much  good 

dear,  you 

)u  good  to 

old  wavs. 

'ether  un- 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   REIiVICK. 


437 


thankful.     Forget  all  the  discontented  fooUsli  things  I  have 
said.     God  /w.s'  been  very  good  to  lis  aU." 

"  Yea,  love,  and  you  must  take  heart,  and  tnist  Him.  And 
you  must  watch  over  your  sister,  j'oiu*  sisters,  I  should  sav. 
And  Rose,  xloar,  you  are  never  to  go  against  your  sister's 
judgment  in  anything.  And  my  bairns,  dinna  let  the  pleas- 
ant life  you  are  living  make  you  forget  another  life.  (Jod 
be  with  you." 

jMr.  Snow  and  Will,  made  a  screen  between  them  and  the 
crowd,  and  Janet  kissed  and  blessed  them  with  a  full  heart. 
There  were  only  a  few  confused  moments  after  that,  and 
then  the  girls  stoc  on  the  platform,  smiling  and  waving  their 
hands  to  their  fiiends,  as  the  train  moved  oflf.  And  then 
Graeme  caught  a  glimi)se  of  the  lovely  pale  face  of  Lilias 
Ruthven,  as  she  smiletl,  and  bowed,  and  helJ  up  her  baby  in 
her  arms  ;  and  she  felt  as  if  that  farewell  was  more  for  her, 
than  any  of  the  many  fi-iends  who  were  watcliing  them  as 
they  went  away. 

And  then  they  turned  to  go  home.  There  was  a  crowd  in 
the  boat  still,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  rest  sat  and  amused 
themselves,  during  the  few  minutes  sail  to  the  other  siilo. 
But  Graeme  stood  lookmg  away  from  them  all,  and  from  i'le 
city  and  crowded  wharf  to  which  they  were  drawing  ne  u*. 
Her  eyes  were  turned  to  the  far  horizon  toward  which  the 
great  river  flowed,  and  she  was  saying  to  herself, 

"  I  uv7Z  take  heart  and  trust  Him,  as  Janet  said.  He  ■;  ;,s' 
been  good  to  lis  aU.  I  will  not  be  afraid  even  of  the  days 
that  look  so  dull  and  profitless  to  me.  God  will  accept 
the  httle  I  can  do,  and  I  will  be  content." 

Will,  and  Charlie  Millar  left  them,  after  they  had  passed 
thi'ough  a  street  or  two. 

"  We  might  just  as  well  have  gone  to  Merlcvalle  with  them, 
for  all  the  difference  in  the  time,"  said  Rose. 

"  But  then  our  preparations  would  have  interfered  with 
our  enjoyment  of  Janet's  visit,  and  with  her  (mjoyment,  too. 
It  was  a  much  better  way  fur  us  to  wait." 


1 1 


438 


JANETS   LOVE    AND   SKUVICE. 


"  Yes.  AikI  for  some  thiiiju^.s  it  -will  bo  })t>ttor  to  bo  there 
after  tho  wodtling,  ratlior  than  before.  But  I  don't  at  all 
like  i^o'in^  back  to  an  empty  house.  I  don't  lilic  people 
goin«<  away." 

"But  [K-'ople  must  go  away,  dear,  if  tlu;y  come  ;  and  a 
quiet  time  will  Ixj  good  for  us  both,  before  we  go  away,"  baid 
Griiewie. 

But  the  (^uiet  was  not  for  that  day.  On  that  ^ay,  two  un- 
expected events  occiUTod.  That  is,  one  of  them  was  unex- 
pected to  Graeme,  and  tho  other  was  unexpected  to  all  the 
rest.  3Ir.  Green  proposed  that  Miss  Elliott  should  accom- 
pany him  on  his  contemplated  European  tour  ;  and  IMi'S. 
Tilman's  time  of  ser-^nce  came  to  a  sudden  end. 

As  Graeme  and  Rose  turned  tho  corner  of  the  street  on 
their  way  home,  they  saw  the  Grove  caniage  standing  at 
their  door. 

"  y'haf  does  not  look  much  like  quiet,"  said  Rose.  '•  How- 
ever, it  is  not  quite  such  a  bugbear  as  it  used  to  bo  ;  don't  you 
remember,  Graeme  ?  " 

Rose's  fears  were  justified.  They  found  Fanny  in  a  state 
of  utter  consternation,  and  even  Mrs.  Grove  not  quite  able 
to  conceal  how  much  she  was  put  about.  INIrs.  Tilman  had 
been  taken  suddenly  ill,  again,  and  even  the  midisccrning 
Fanny  could  not  fail  to  understand  the  nature  of  her  illness, 
when  she  ffjund  h  '  unable  to  speak,  w  ith  a  black  bottle  lying 
on  the  bed  beside  her.  Mrs.  Grove  was  inchncd  to  make 
light  of  the  matter,  saying  that  the  best  of  people  might  be 
overtaken  in  a  fault,  on  occasion  ;  but  Graeme  put  her  very 
charitable  suggestions  to  silence,  by  telling  the  secret  of  the 
housekeeper's  former  illnesses.  Vhis  was  not  the  first  fault 
of  the  kind,  by  many. 

There  were  a  good  many  words  spoken  on  this  occasion, 
more  than  it  would  be  wise  to  record.  INIrs.  Grove  professed 
indignation  that  the  *'  mistress  of  the  house"  should  have  been 
kept  in  ignorance  of  tho  state  of  affairs,  and  resented  the  idea 
of  Fanny's  being  treated  as  a  child.  But  Fanny  said  nothing  ; 
and  then  her  mother  assured  her,  that  in  future  she  would 


JANKT  S    LOVE    AND    SKRVICE. 


439 


le  street  on 


IS  occasion. 


leave  her  to  the  mana^oment  of  her  own  liousx'liold  afTairK  ; 
and  Gracnio  surpiiscd  tli(Ma  all,  by  saj-inj:^,  very  dcciilidly, 
that  in  doing  this,  she  would  be  quite  pnfc  and  right. 

Of  course,  after  all  this,  Fanny  could  not  tliink  of  going 
out  to  pass  the  afternoon,  and  Graeme  had  hltlo  quiet  that 
day.  There  were  strangers  at  dinner,  and  Arthur  was  busy 
with  them  for  some  time  after  ;  and  when,  being  at  liberty  at 
last,  ho  call(Hl  to  Graeme  that  ho  wanted  to  sec  her  for  a 
minute,  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  answered  with  impa- 
tience. 

"Oh!  Arthur,  I  am  very  tired.  Won't  it  keep  till  morn- 
ing?    Do  let  Mrs.  Tilman  and  domestic  affairs  wait.' 

"  Mrs,  Tilman !  What  can  you  mean,  Graeme  ?  I  sui)pOKe 
]\Ii's.  (irove  has  been  favoring  the  household  with  some  advice, 
has  she  ? 

"  Has  not  Fanny  told  you  about  it  ?"  asked  Graeme. 

"No.  I  saw  Fanny  was  in  tribulation  of  some  kind.  I 
shall  hear  it  all  in  go(xl  time.  It  is  something  that  concerns 
only  you  that  I  Avish  to  speak  about.  How  would  you  Uko 
to  visit  .Europe,  Graeme  ?  " 

"In  certain  circumstances  I  might  hke  it." 

"Mr.  Green  wished  me  to  ask  the  question — or  another 


"  Arthui',  don't  say  it,"  said  Ciraeme,  sitting  down  and 
turnmg  pale.     "  Tell  me  that  you  did  not  cxjiect  this," 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  was  altogether  taken  by  surprise. 
He  meant  to  speak  to  you  himself,  but  his  com*agc  failed 
him.  He  is  very  luuch  in  earnest,  Graeme,  and  very  much 
afraid.' 

"Ai-thur,"  said  his  sister,  earnestly,  "you  do  not  tliink 
this  is  my  fault?  If  I  had  known,  it  should  never  havo 
come  to  this." 

"He  must  have  an  answer  now." 

"Yes,  you  will  know  what  to  say  to  him.     I  am  sorry." 

"But,  Graeme,  you  should  take  tune  to  think.  In  tho 
eyes  of  the  world  this  would  be  a  good  match  for  you." 

Graeme  rose  impatiently. 


440 


JANKTS    LOVK    AND    HKItVICK. 


)M     ■' 


;•;: 

1 

1    , 

Tj.. 
>   ■ 

i 

^! 

t 

Im 


"  A^liat  1ms  tho  world  to  do  with  it  V  Tell  mo,  Ai-tluir, 
tlmt  you  do  not  think  nio  to  l)l!uno  for  this." 

*'  I  do  not  think  you  intended  to  ^ivc  Mr.  ( Jrecn  encouraj^e- 
mcnt.  But  I  cannot  understand  why  you  whould  be  so  8iu'- 
priscd.     I  am  not." 

"You  have  not  been  seeing  with  your  own  eyes,  and  tho 
cncouraj^cment  has  not  been  from  m\  It  cannot  be  helped 
now.  You  will  know  what  to  say.  And,  Arthur,  pray  let 
lliis  be  quite  between  you  and  me." 

"  Then,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  ?  " 

"  Nothmg.     Good  night." 

Arthiu'  was  not  surprised.  Ho  knew  quite  well  that  Mr. 
Green  was  not  good  enough  for  Graeme.  But,  then,  who 
was  ?  Mr.  Green  was  very  rich,  and  it  would  have  been  a 
cplendid  settlement  for  Lor,  and  she  was  not  very  young 
now.  If  she  \yas  ever  to  many,  it  was  surely  time.  And 
whv  should  she  not  ? 

Ho  had  intended  to  say  something  hko  this  to  her,  but 
somehow  ho  had  not  found  it  easy  to  do.  Well,  she  was  old 
enough  and  wise  enough  to  know  her  own  mind,  and  to  de- 
cide for  herself ;  and,  taken  without  tho  help  of  his  position 
and  his  gi'cat  wealth,  Mr.  Green  was  certainly  not  a  very  in- 
tercstuig  person  ;  and  probably  Graeme  had  done  well  to 
refuse  him.  Ho  pondered  a  long  time  on  this  question,  and 
on  others  ;  but  when  ho  went  up  stall's,  Fanny  was  waiting 
for  him,  wide  awake  and  eager. 

"  Well,  what  did  Graeme  say  ?    Has  she  gone  to  bed  ?  " 

Ai'thur  was  rather  taken  aback.  He  was  by  no  means 
sure  that  it  would  be  a  wise  thing  to  discuss  his  sister's 
affau*s  with  his  wife.  Fanny  would  never  be  able  to  keep  his 
news  to  herself. 

"  Y^iu  ought  to  be  hi  bed,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  loiow  I  ought.     But  is  she  not  a  ^^^^^'^f* 

"  Graeme,  a  wretch !  " 

"Nonsense,  Arthur!  I  mean  Mrs.  Tilmuii.  Yo'  know 
very  wcU." 

"  Mrs.  Tilman !     What  has  she  to  do  with  it  1 " 


-.-4'LJk,' 


ino,  Ai-tliur, 


}n  oncourago- 
ild  bo  so  HUi*- 


>yca,  ami  tho 
lot  be  liolpcd 
Imr,  pray  let 


I'cll  that  Mr. 
it,  then,  who 
have  been  a 
very  young 
T  time.     And 

3  to  her,  but 
she  was  old 
d,  and  to  do- 
his  position 
ot  a  very  in- 
tone well  to 
[ucstiou,  and 
Avas  waiting 

to  bed?" 
y  no  means 
his  sister's 
to  keep  his 


1.  -'» 


Yo     know 


Janet's  love  and  8ei:vice. 


441 


""Wliat!  did  not  aracme  tell  you  ?  " 

And  then  tho  whole  story  burst  f  n-th — all,  and  a  ^'ood  doul 
more  than  lias  been  told,  for  Fanny  and  Rose  had  bLcii  dis- 
(•ussnij?  tho  niattor  in  private  with  Sarah,  and  sho  had  re- 
hevod  her  mind  of  all  that  had  been  kept  (piiet  so  long. 

"  Tho  \nvt('h !  "  said  Arthur.  "  Slio  might  have  bunicd 
us  m  our  bods." 

"Just  what  I  said,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  triumphantly. 
"But  then,  Sarah  was  there  to  watch  her,  and  Gra(niio  knew 
about  it  and  watched  too.     It  was  very  good  of  her,  I  think." 

"But  why,  in  tho  name  of  common  senses  did  they  think 
it  necessary  to  wai^  and  watch,  as  you  call  it  ?  Why  was  she 
not  scut  about  her  business  ?    AVliy  was  not  I  told  ?  " 

"  Sarah  told  us,  it  was  because  Miss  Elliott  would  not 
have  iVIrs.  Snow's  visit  spoiled  ;  and  Rose  says  she  wanted 
everything  to  go  smootlily,  so  that  sho  should  thuik  I  was 
wise  and  discreet,  and  a  good  housekeeper.  I  am  very  much 
ofiaid  I  am  not." 

Ai'thur  laughed,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Live  and  leani,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  too,  I  am  determined.  But,  Arthur, 
was  it  not  very  nice  of  Graeme  to  say  nothing,  but  make  the 
best  of  it  ?  Especially  when  mamma  had  got  Nelly  away 
and  all." 

"  It  was  very  nice  of  her,"  said  Ai'thiu*. 

"  And  mamma  was  very  angi'y  to-day,  and  Graeme  said 

no,  it  was  mamma  who  said  she  would  let  mo  manage  my 
owTi  alfaiis  after  this,  and  Graeme  said  that  would  be  much 
the  best  way." 

"I  quite  agree,"  said  her  husband,  laughing. 

"  But,  Ai-thur,  I  am  afi-aid  if  it  had  not  been  for  Graeme, 
things  would  have  gone  terribly  wi'ong  all  this  time.  I  am 
afraid,  dear,  I  am  rather  fooUsh." 

"  I  am  sui'o  Graeme  does  not  say  so,"  said  Arthur. 

"  No.  Sho  does  not  sav  so.  But  I  am  afi-aid  it  is  true  all 
tho  some.  But,  iVrthui-,  I  do  mciin  to  try  and  leani.  I  think 
Rose  is  ricfht  when  sho  savs  there  is  no  one  hke  Graeme." 


442 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SEUVICE. 


^fv  .m 


II 


'■■k: 


Her  husband  tijiifi-cocl  with  her  hero,  too,  and  ho  thought 
about  these  thinj^s  much  more  than  ho  said  to  his  wife.  It 
■would  ho  a  chflerent  home  to  them  all  without  his  sister,  ho 
acknowledji^od,  and  he  said  to  lumsclf,  that  ho  oujjfht  to  bo 
the  last  to  rep'et  Graeme's  decision  with  re«,'ard  to  Mr. 
Green  and  his  European  toiu'. 

In  the  meantime,  Graeme,  not  caririj^  to  share  her  thoughts 
with  her  sister  just  then,  had  stolen  down  stairs  aiuain,  and 
sat  looking,  Avith  troubled  eyes,  out  into  the  night.  That 
was  at  lirst,  while  her  conversation  with  her  brother  re  man  led 
in  h(>r  mind.  She  was  annoyed  that  Mr.  Green  had  been 
ponnilted  to  speal',  but  she  could  not  blame  herself  for  it. 
Now,  as  slio  was  looking  back,  she  said  sl..j  might  have  seen  it 
coming  ;  and  so  she  mi-jht,  if  she  had  been  thinking  at  all 
of  Mr.  Green  and  his  hojjos.  She  saw  now,  that  from  various 
causes,  witli  which  she  had  had  nothing  at  all  to  do,  they 
had  met  more  frequently,  and  fallen  into  more  familiar 
aequiiintaneeshi]!  than  she  had  been  aware  of  while  tho  time 
was  passing,  and  she  could  see  ^vhcrc  he  might  have  taken 
encouragement  where  none  was  meant,  and  she  was  grieved 
that  it  had  been  so.  ]hit  she  could  not  blame  herself,  and 
she  could  not  brmg  herself  to  pity  him  very  nuielj. 

"  Ho  will  not  break  his  heart,  if  he  has  one  ;  jind  there  are 
others  far  better  fitted  to  please  him,  and  to  enjoy  what  ho 
has  to  bestow,  than  I  could  over  have  done  ;  and,  so  that 
i\j'thur  says  nothing  about  it,  there  is  no  harm  done." 

So  she  put  tho  subject  from  her  as  something  quite  past 
and  done  with.  And  there  was  something  else  quite  past 
and  done  with. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  been  \ery  foolish  and  wrong,"  she 
said,  lettmg  her  thoughts  go  'arther  buck  iutc^  the  day.  She 
said  it  over  and  over  again,  and  it  was  true.  She  had  been 
foolish,  and  perhaps  a  little  wi'ong.  Never  once,  since  that 
miserable  night,  now  more  than  two  years  ago,  when  he  had 
brought  Harry  home,  had  Graeme  touched  tho  hand  or  met 
the  eye  of  Allan  Ruthven.  She  had  frequently  seen  Lilias, 
and  she  had  not  consciously  avoided  him,  but  it  had  so  hap- 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND   BEItVICE. 


443 


lio  thought 
bis  wife.  It 
lis  sis  tor,  ho 
)ii^^ht  to  bo 
lid   to   Mr. 

icr  thfiUghts 
}  a«,iiin,  and 
ight.  That 
or  rcinahicd 
1  had  1)0011 
irsclf  for  it. 
Iiavo  seen  it 
king  at  all 
•oni  various 
to  do,  they 
re  familiar 
ile  the  tinio 
have  taken 
as  grieved 
icrself,  and 

there  are 
what  ho 
(1,  so  that 

10." 

luitc  past 
liiito  past 


pcncd  that  thoy  had  never  met.  In  those  old  times  she  had 
come  to  the  knowledge  tliat,  unasked,  she  had  given  him 
more  than  fri(mdshi|).  iind  she  had  slinink,  with  such  pain  and 
shame,  from  the  tliought  that  she  might  still  do  so,  that  slu; 
had  grown  morbid  over  tlie  fear.  To-dav  she  had  seen  him. 
She  had  elas2)ed  his  hand,  and  mot  his  look,  and  listened  to 
his  friendly  words,  and  she  knew  it  was  well  with  her.  They 
were  friends  whom  time,  an'.l  absence,  and  perhr^.ps  suilering, 
had  fried,  and  they  would  be  fi'iends  always. 

She  did  not  ackiiov/ledge,  in  wonls,  either  her  fear  or  her 
relief  ;  but  slie  was  glad  wit)-  a  sense  of  the  old  pleasure  in 
the  friendshij)  of  Allan  and  Lihas  ;  and  she  was  saying  to 
herself  that  slie  had  been  foolish  and  wrong  to  let  it  slip  out 
of  her  hfe  so  utterly  as  she  had  done.  ^She  told  herself  that 
tiiie  friendsliip,  like  theh's,  was  too  sv»eet  and  rare  a  blessing 
to  bo  sufllrod  to  die  out,  and  that  when  they  came  homo 
again  tiie  old  glad  time  would  coido  back. 

*'  I  am  ^^lad  that  I  have  seen  them  again,  very  glad.  And 
I  am  glad  in  their  happiness.     I  know  that  I  am  glad  now." 

It  was  very  Lite,  and  she  wa?--  tired  after  the  long  day,  but 
she  lingered  still,  thinking  of  many  things,  and  of  all  that  tho 
])ast  had  brought,  of  all  that  tho  future  might  biiiig.  Her 
thoughts  were  ho})eful  ones,  and  as  sho  went  slowly  up  tho 
stau's  to  her  room,  sho  was  repeating  Janet's  worda,  and 
making  th(;m  her  own. 

"  I  will  take  heart  and  tnist.  If  the  work  I  have  hero  is 
God-given,  He  will  accept  it,  and  make  mo  content  in  it,  bo 
it  great  or  little,  and  I  will  take  heart  and  trust. 


oug,"  sho 
lay.  Sho 
had  been 
linco  that 
n  ho  had 
d  or  met 
n  Lilias, 
so  hap- 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


if 


m\ 


H  m 


IF,  on  the  night  of  the  day  when  Janet  went  away,  Graomo 
could  have  had  a  glimpse  of  her  outward  life  for  the  next 
two  years,  she  might  have  shrunk,  dismayed,  fi'om  the  way  that 
lay  before  her.  And  yet  when  two  yeiu's  and  more  had  passed, 
over  the  cares,  and  fears,  and  disap;-  jmtments,  over  the  change 
and  separation  which  the  time  had  brought,  she  could  look 
with  calm  content,  naj',  whith  grateful  gladness.  They  had 
not  been  eventful  years — that  is,  they  had  been  immarked  by 
any  of  the  especial  tokens  of  change,  of  which  the  eye  of  the 
world  is  wont  to  take  note,  the  sudden  and  evident  coming  into 
their  lives  of  good  or  evil  fortune.  But  Cxracmc  had  only  to 
recall  the  troubled  days  that  had  been  before  the  time  when 
she  had  sought  help  and  comfort  fi'om  her  old  friend,  to 
realize  that  these  years  hud  brought  to  her,  and  to  some  of 
those  she  loved,  a  change  real,  deep,  and  blessed,  and  she 
daily  thanked  God,  for  content  and  a  quiet  heart. 

That  which  outwardly  characterized  the  time  to  Graeme, 
that  to  which  she  could  not  have  looked  forward  hopefully  or 
patiently,  but  upon  which  she  could  look  back  without  regi'et, 
was  her  separation  from  her  sislor.  At  first  all  things  had 
happened  as  had  been  planned.  They  made  their  preparations 
for  then*  lorig  talked  of  visit  to  ^Merlovillo  ;  they  enjoyed  tho 
journey,  the  welcome,  the  wedthng.  Will,  went  away,  and 
then  they  had  a  fewqu'et,  restful  days  with  Janet  ;  and  then 
there  came  from  home  sad  tidings  of  Faun^'^s  illness — an  ill- 
ness that  brought  her  in  a  singk?  night  very  near  to  tho 
gates  of  death  ;  and  (irucme  did  not  need  lier  brother's 
agonized  entreaties  to  make  her  hasten  to  her  side.  Tho  sum- 
mons came  duiing  a  brief  ubsoucc  of  Iloso  from  Merleville,  and 
(444) 


■*nWTIf'  . 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SKKVICE. 


415 


was  too  irni>(rativo  to  admit  of  (Iracmo's  waitin.^  for  her  re- 
turn, so  she  was  left  behind.  Afterwards,  when  Fanny's 
danger  was  over,  she  was  permitted  to  remain  longer,  and 
when  sudden  business  In'ought  theii*  brother  Norman  east,  liis 
determination  to  take  her  home  with  him,  and  her  incUnation 
to  go,  prevailed  over  Graeme's  unwilUngness  t<j  cr)nscnt,  and 
the  sisters,  for  the  first  tune  in  their  Lves,  had  separate 
homes.  Tlic  hope  of  beuig  able  to  follow  her  in  the  spiing, 
had  at  fii*st  reconciled  Graeme  to  the  thought,  but  when 
spring  came,  Fimny  was  not  well  enough  to  be  left,  nor  would 
Norman  consent  to  the  retui'n  of  ll<jsu  ;  and  so  for  one  reason 
or  other,  more  than  two  years  passed  before  the  sistera  met 
again.  They  were  not  unhappy  yeai-s  to  Graeme.  Many 
anxious  hours  came  in  the  coui*so  of  them,  to  lier  and  to 
ihem  all  ;  but  out  of  the  cares  and  troubles  of  the  time  came 
pe  ice,  and  more  than  peace  at  last. 

The  winter  that  followed  her  retmni  from  ^lerluvillc,  was 
ra.hcr  a  dreary  one.  The  restraints  ami  self-duniuls,  which 
the  delicate  state  of  her  health  necessarily  impo.i(;d  upon  her, 
were  very  irksome  to  Fanny;  and  Graeme's  c^na'age  and  dieer- 
fulness,  sometimes  during  these  first  months,  were  hardly 
sufilcient  to  answer  tlic  demands  made  uptju  her.  But  all  this 
changed  as  the  hoiu'of  Fanny's  trial  approuched — the  hoar  that 
was  to  make  her  a  proud  and  happy  mother  ;  or  to  quench  her 
hope,  pcrhap.-!,  her  life,  in  darkness.  ^Vll  this  was  chaiig(,'d.  Out 
of  the  entire  trust  which  Fanny  had  come  to  [jlace  in  her  sister 
Graeme,  gi'ew  the  knowledge  of  a  higher  and  bettej*  trust. 
The  love  and  care  which,  duiing  those  davs  of  sickness  and 
sufiering,  and  before  th<jse  days,  A\ere  made  precious  and 
asnu'ed,  were  made  tiie  means  of  revealing  to  her  a  lovo 
wliich  can  never  fail  to  do  otlievwise  than  tlie  very  Ije.st  for 
i's  object — a  care  moro  than  sufficient  for  all  the  emergencies 
of  life,  and  beyond  Ut'c.  And  so  as  the  days  v.xnt  on,  the 
possibilities  of  the  future  ct'as.'d  to  terrify  her.  Lniug  life, 
and  boimd  to  it  by  tics  that  grew  siroiiger  and  closer  every 
day,  she  was  yet  not  afraid  to  know,  that  <k'ath  might  be  be- 
fore her  ;  and  she  grew  gentle  and  quiet  with  u  peace  so 


446 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


sweet  and  deep,  that  it  sometimes  startled  Graeme  with  a 
sudden  dread,  that  the  end  mij,'ht,  indeed,  be  di'awing  near. 

Graemci  was  set  at  rest  about  one  thing.  If  there  had 
lingered  in  her  heart  any  fear  lest  her  brother's  happiness  was 
not  secure  in  Fanny's  keepmg,  or  that  his  love  for  her  would 
not  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  common  life,  when  the  ♦  first 
charms  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  and  her  graceful,  winning 
ways  were  gone,  that  fear  did  not  outlast  this  time.  Through 
the  wearmens  and  frctfuhiess  of  the  first  months  of  her  Ulncss, 
he  tended  her,  and  hung  about  her,  and  listened  to  her  com- 
plaints with  a  patience  that  never  tu'ed  ;  and  when  }ier  fret- 
ful time  was  over,  and  the  days  came  when  she  lay  hushed 
and  peaceful,  yd  a  little  awed  and  anxious,  looking  forward 
to  she  knew  not  what,  he  soothed  and  encoiu'aged  her  with  a 
gentle  cheerfulness,  which  was  to  Graeme,  jiathetic,  in  contrast 
with  the  restless  misery  that  seemed  to  take  possession  of  him 
when  he  was  not  by  her  side.  One  does  not  need  to  be  very 
good,  or  very  wise,  or  even  beautiful  to  w  in  true  love  ;  and 
Fanny  was  safe  in  the  love  of  her  husband,  and  to  her  sister's 
mind,  growing  worthier  of  it  eveiy  day. 

Graeme  would  have  hardly  acknowledged,  even  to  herself, 
how  much  ibrthur  needed  the  discipline  of  this  time,  but 
afterwards  she  saw  it  plainly.  Life  had  been  going  very 
smoothly  with  him,  and  he  had  been  becoming  content  with 
its  routine  of  business  and  pleasure.  The  small  successes  of 
his  profession,  and  the  consideration  they  won  for  him,  were 
in  danger  of  being  prized  at  more  than  their  value,  and  oi 
maldng  him  forget  things  better  worth  remembering,  and  this 
pause  in  his  life  was  needed.  These  hoiu's  in  his  wife's  sick 
room,  apparently  so  full  of  rest  and  peace,  but  really  so 
an:dous  and  troubled,  helped  him  to  a  truer  estimate  of  the 
value  of  that  wbicli  the  world  can  bestow,  and  forced  him  to 
compare  them  with  those  things  over  v.-hich  the  world  liaM  no 
power.  Fanny's  eager,  sometimes  anxious  questionings, 
helloed  to  the  same  end.  The  confidence  with  wliich  she 
brought  her  doubts  and  difficulties  to  liim  for  solution,  her 
evident  belief  m  his  supeiior  wisdom  and  goodness,  her  per- 


.^: i>.-..ii..T*.. 


Janet's  love  and  seevioe.. 


447 


feet  trust  in  his  power  and  skill  to  put  her  right  ahout 
matters  of  which  until  now  she  hod  never  thought,  were  a  re- 
proach to  liini  often.  Listening  to  hor,  and  pondering  on  the 
questions  which  her  words  stiggostod,  he  saw  how  far  he  had 
wandered  from  the  paths  whifh  his  father  had  trod,  how  far 
ho  had  fallen  short  of  the  standard  at  which  he  had  aimed, 
and  the  tnie  object  of  life  grew  clearer  to  him  during  those  days. 

They  helped  each  other  to  the  finchng  of  the  Ijettcr  way  ; 
she  helped  Mm  most,  and  ( Jraemc  hcl[)cd  thom  both.  These 
"were  anxious  days  to  her,  but  happy  days,  as  well.  In  caring 
for  these  two,  so  dear  to  her,  in  seeking  for  them  the  highest 
happiness,  in  striving,  earnestly,  that  this  time  might  not  be 
suffered  to  pass,  without  leaving  a  blessing  behind,  she  for- 
got herself  and  her  own  fears  and  cares,  and  in  seeking  their 
happiness  found  her  own. 

This  quiet  time  came  to  an  end.  The  little  life  so  longed 
for,  so  precious,  hngered  with  them  l)ut  a  day,  and  passed 
away.  Fanny  hovered  for  a  time  on  the  brink  of  the  gi'avc, 
but  was  restored  again,  to  a  new  life,  Ijctter  loved  and  more 
"worthy  of  love  than  ever  she  had  been  before. 

That  summer  they  wont  south,  to  the  sea-side,  and  after- 
wards before  tluw  rotm-ned  home,  to  ^Merleville,  where  Arthur 
joined  them.  It  was  a  time  of  much  pleasiu'c  and  pi'ofit  to 
them  all.  It  did  Arthur  good  to  stand  with  his  sister  beside 
the  two  gi-avcs.  They  spoke  there  more  fully  and  fi'eely  than 
they  had  c\er  spoken  to  each  other  before,  of  the  old  times, 
of  their  father  and  mother,  and  of  the  work  they  had  been 
honored  to  do  in  the  world  ;  and  out  of  the  memories  thus 
awakened,  came  earnest  thoughts  and  high  resolves  to  both. 
Viewed  in  the  light  which  shone  from  his  father's  life  ancl 
work,  his  own  could  not  but  seem  to  Arthur  mean  and  worth- 
less. Truths  seen  dimly,  and  accepted  with  reserve,  amid 
the  bustle  of  business,  and  the  influence  of  the  world,  pre- 
sented themselves  clearly  and  fully  here,  and  bowed  both  his 
heart  and  his  reason,  and  though  he  said  little  to  his  sister, 
she  knew  that  life,  with  its  responsibilitie-^  and  duties,  would 
henpeforth  have  a  deeper  and  hoher  meaning  to  him. 


rr 


448 


JANET  3   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


Mil 


\i  m 


H  .;! 


lis 


I 


Jane!:  never  spoke  to  Griienic  of  hcrolcTlrouMcLl  thmiglits. 
"  It  is  all  coming  rij^lit  NvitU  my  bairn,"  she  said,  softly,  to 
herself,  the  "ery  Ih'st  glimpse  she  ]L,'ot  of  her  face,  and  seeing 
her  and  watching  her  during  these  few  hajjin'  days,  she  knew 
that  she  had  grown  content  with  her  life,  and  its  work,  and 
that  the  fever  of  her  heart  was  healed.  And  as  the  da^'S 
went  on,  and  she  saw  Ai'thur  more  and  more  like  his  father, 
in  the  now  earnestness  of  his  thoughts  and  hopes,  and  watch- 
ed Fanny  gentle,  and  loving,  mindful  of  others,  clinging  to 
Graeme,  and  trusting  and  honoring  her  entirely, — a  Fanny  as 
diU'erent  as  could  v/eU  be  imagined  from  the  vain,  exacting 
little  house-keeper,  who  had  so  often  excited  her  inchgnation, 
a  year  ago,  she  repeated  again  and  again.  ''  It  is  coming 
right  with  them  all." 

Another  year  passed,  bringing  new  cares,  and  new  plea- 
sures, and,  to  Arthur  and  Fanny,  the  fulfillment  of  new  hopes 
in  the  birth  of  a  son.  To  (iraeme,  it  brought  many  longings 
for  the  sight  of  her  sister's  face,  many  half  formed  plans  for 
going  to  her,  or  for  bringing  her  homo,  but  Arthur's  boy  was 
three  months  old  before  sL^  saw  her  sister.  Will,  was  still 
in  Scotland,  to  stay  for  another  year,  at  least.  Harry  had 
been  at  home  several  times  smce  his  ili'st  soitow  ful  depiu'turo, 
and  now  there  was  a  prospect  that  he  would  be  at  home  always. 
A  great  change  had  taken  j^lace  in  his  uffaii's.  The  firm  of 
Elphinstone  and  Company  no  longer  existed.  It  was  suc- 
ceeded by  one,  which  bade  fau'  to  bo  as  prosperous,  and  in 
time,  as  highly  honored  as  it  had  been,  the  linn  of  Elliott, 
Millar  and  Company.  Mr.  Ruthven  was  still  in  the  busi- 
ness, that  is,  he  had  left  in  it  the  capital  necessary  to  its  es- 
tablishment on  a  firm  l)asis,  l)ut  ho  took  no  jiart  in  the  man- 
agement of  its  affairs.  He  lived  in  Scotland  now,  and  had 
done  so  ever  since  the  death  of  his  wife,  which  had  taken 
place,  soon  after  they  hatl  reached  that  country.  Ho  had 
shice  succeeded,  on  the  death  of  his  unci  >,  his  father's  brother, 
to  the  mheritauce  of  a  small  c-stato  near  his  native  place,  and 
there,  with  his  mother  and  his  little  daughter,  ho  resided. 
Either,  it  was  said,  his  uncle  had  mado  his  residence  on  the 


JANET  S    LOVE   AN[)    8ERVICE. 


449 


place  a  contlition  of  possession,  or  ho  luid  sro\\ni  tired  of  a 
life  of  bii>iiicss,  but  ho  eviilcutly,  did  not  intend  to  return  to 
Canada  at  present ;  even  his  half  brother,  v.'ho  deeply  re- 
gretted his  early  withdrawal  from  active  life,  and  earnestly 
remonstrated  with  him  coneernint^  it,  knew  little  al)out  his 
motives,  (!xcqit  that  his  health  was  not  so  Hi-ni  as  it  used  to 
be,  and  that  he  had  determined  not  to  engage  in  busines.-j 


again. 


H^rrv  had  changed  much,  duruig  the  vcars  of  his  absence. 
Up  to  Mie  time  of  his  leiiving  home,  lie  had  retained  his  boyish 
frankness  and  lovo  of  fun,  more  than  is  usual  in  one  really 
devoted  t(j  busmess,  and  successful  in  it.  AVheii  he  camo 
back,  he  seemed  older  than  those  years  ought  to  have  made 
hhn.  lie  was  no  longer  the  meny,  imjiul-'jive  lad,  ready  on 
the  shortest  notice,  to  take  part  in  anything  that  ju-omised 
amusement  for  the  moment,  whatever  the  next  might  bring. 
He  was  (piiet  and  observant  now;  hardly  doing  his  part  in 
gfcneral  conversation,  holding  his  own  views  and  opuiious 
with  sufficient  tenacity  when  they  were  assailed,  but  rather 
indifferent  as  to  what  might  be  the  views  and  opinions  of 
others  ;  as  unHkc  as  possible  to  the  HaiTV  who  had  been  so 
ready  on  all  occasions,  either  in  earnest  or  in  sport,  to  throw 
himself  into  the  discussion  of  i^.'l  manner  of  questions,  with 
all  kind  of  people.  Even  in  their  own  cnclo,  he  Ukod  betr 
ter  to  listen  than  to  speak,  but  he  fell  (juite  naturally  and 
happily  into  his  place  at  home,  though  it  was  not  just  the 
old  place. 

Graeme  thought  him  wonderfully  improved,  and  made  no 
secret  of  her  pride  and  delight  in  him.  Ai'thur  thought  him 
improved  too,  but  he  shocked  his  sister  divadfully,  by  profes- 
sing to  see  m  him  indications  of  character,  that  suggested  a 
future  resemblance  to  their  respected  friend,  ^Ir.  Eiias  (Ireen, 
in  more  than  in  success. 

"  He  is  rather  too  devoted  to  business,  too  indiilerent  to  the 
claims  of  society,  and  to  the  pursuits  of  the  young  swells  of 
the  day,  to  be  natural,  I  am  afraid.  But  it  will  pay.  In  the 
coui'so  of  iifteeu  or  twenty  yoai's,  we  shall  have  him  building 


I  I 


il 


450 


JANET  8   LOVK   AND    SERVICE. 


a'pjilatial  residence,'  and  bcrinf^  himself  and  other  people, 
hko  our  respected  friend.  You  seem  to  bo  a  little  discontent- 
ed with  the  prospect.  (Iniemc." 

" Discontented!"  echoed  Graeme.  "It  is  with  you,  that  I 
am  (hscontented.  How  can  you  speak  of  anything  so  horri- 
ble ?  You  don't  know  Harry." 

"  I  know  what  the  result  of  such  entire  devotion  to  busi- 
ness must  bo,  joined  to  such  talents  as  Harry's.  Success,  of 
course,  and  a  measure  of  satisfaction  with  it,  more  or  less,  as 
the  case  may  be.  No,  you  need  not  look  at  Han'y's  fiiend 
and  partner.  He  is  '  tarred  with  the  same  stick,'  as  Mrs. 
Snow  would  say." 

Hairy 's  friend  and  partner,  lau|:^hcd. 

"  Mrs.  Snow  would  never  sav  that  about  IVIr.  Millar,"  said 
Graeme,  indignantly,  "nor  about  Harry  either  ;  and  nei- 
tlicr  of  them  will  come  to  a  fate  like  that." 

"  They  may  fail,  or  they  may  many.  I  was  only  speaking 
of  the  natm'al  consequences  of  the  present  state  of  affairs, 
should  nothing  intervene  to  prevent  such  a  conclusion." 

"Harry  will  never  grow  to  be  hke  Mr.  Green,"  said  Fanny, 
gravely.     "  Graeme  will  not  let  him." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Arthur. 

"  There  is  a  groat  deal  in  that,"  said  Mr.  Millar. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  to  keep  Harry  from  a  fate  hke 
that,  besides  me,"  said  Graeme,  "  even  if  there  was  any 
danger,  to  one  of  his  loving  and  generous  natui'o." 

She  was  more  in  earnest  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  call 
for. 

"  Graeme,"  said  Fanny,  eagerly,  "  you  don't  suppose 
Arthur  is  in  earnest.    He  thinks  there  is  no  one  Hko  HaiTy." 

Arthur  laughed. 

"  I  don't  think  there  are  many  like  him,  certainly,  but  ho 
is  not  beyond  spoiling,  and  Graeme,  and  you,  too,  make  a 
great  deal  too  much  of  him,  I  am  afi-aid." 

"  If  that  would  spoil  one,  you  would  have  been  sj)oiled 
long  ago,"  said  Graeme,  laughing. 

"  Oh  I  that  is  quite  another  matter  ;  but  as  to  Hai*ry,  it  is 


JANKT  S    LOVE   AND   SEFiVICE. 


451 


a  good  thing  that  Rofiic  is  coming  home,  to  tlivort  the  attention 
of  vou  two  from  him  a  wliilo,"  added  he,  as  his  brother  ciiiuo 
into  the  room.  "  And  you  will  do  your  best  to  spoil  her,  too, 
if  some  of  the  rest  of  us  don't  counteract  your  inHuence." 

" "What  is  it  all  about?"  said  Harry.  "Are  you  sjwiling 
your  son,  Fanny  ?  Is  that  the  matter  under  discussion  ?" 

'*  No.  It  is  you  that  we  ai'O  spoiling,  (Traemc  aiul  I.  AVo 
admire  you  quite  too  much,  Ai'thur  says,  and  ho  is  afraid  wo 
shall  do  the  same  for  Rose." 

"  Aa  for  Rose,  I  am  afraid  the  spoihng  process  must  have 
commenced  already,  if  admu'ation  will  do  it,"  said  HaiTy. 
"  If  one  is  to  beheve  what  Norman  says,  she  has  been  turn- 
ing a  good  many  heads  out  there." 

"  So  that  her  own  head  is  safe,  the  rest  cannot  be  helped," 
said  Graeme,  with  a  little  vexation.  It  was  not  Hany's 
words,  so  much  as  his  tone,  that  she  disliked.  Ho  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,  I  am  not  sure.  I  don't  thmk  she  tried 
to  helj)  it.  ^\liy  should  she  ?  It  is  her  natural  and  proper 
sphere  of  labor  —  her  vocation.  I  think  she  enjoyed  it, 
rather." 

"  Hari'y,  don't !  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  speak  of  Rose 
in  that  way." 

"  Oh !  my  speaking  of  it  can't  make  any  difference,  you 
know  ;  and  if  you  don't  believe  me,  you  can  ask  Charhe. 
He  is  nn-  auth(jrity  for  the  last  bit  of  news  of  Rosio." 

Charlie  looked  up  astonished  and  indignant,  and  reddened 
as  he  met  Graeme's  eve. 

"  1  don't  understand  you,  Hany — the  least  in  the  world," 
said  he. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten  the  postscript  I 
saw  in  Rowland's  letter  about  Mr.  Green  and  his  hopes  and 
intentions?     (^'onic,  now,  Charlie,  that  is  a  little  too  much." 

"  y\r.  Green  !  "  repeated  Arthur  and  Fanny,  in  a  breath. 

"  iire  wo  never  to  have  done  with  that  unhappy  man  ?  " 
said  Graeme,  indignantly. 

"  The  idea  of  Rose  ever  looking  at  him !  "  said  Fanny. 


M 


452 


JANKT  rt    LOVE    AXI)    SKKVICE. 


M» 


"Oil!  kIk!  ini^'lit  look  .at  him  without  (loiiipf  hci*self  any 
harm,"  said  HaiTV.  "  She  might  even  huhilgo  m  a  little  in- 
nocent llirtation " 

"  Ilarrv,"  Kaid  Fanny,  Bolcmnly,  "  if  there  is  a  worJ  in  the 
Kii;^li.sh  laii^iiagc  that  Graeme  hates  it  ia  that.  Don't  say  it 
again,  I  Ix-g." 

Harry  nhniggcd  his  shoulders.  Graeme  looked  vexed 
nn«l  anxious. 

•'  MisH  Klliott,"  said  Charho,  rising,  hi  some  cmbaiTass- 
nieut,  "  I  hojK)  you  don't  think  me  capable  of  discussing — or 

])crmittiiig .    I  mean,  in  the  letter  to  which  Hari'y  refers, 

your  sistrr's  name  was  not  mentioned.  You  have  received  a 
wrong  im))rossion.  I  am  the  last  person  in  the  world  that 
would  Ix;  likely  to  offend  in  that  way." 

"  Charlie,  man  !  you  arc  makhig  nnich  ado  about  nothing; 
and,  Ciraeme,  you  are  as  bad.  Of  course,  Rosie's  name  was 
not  nienlioned  ;  but  I  know  quite  well,  and  so  do  yon,  who 
'  ]^a  lulln  Canadieime  '  was.  But  no  harm  was  meant,  and 
none  was  done." 

"  It  ^^•ould  be  rather  a  good  joke  if  llosio  were  to  rule  in 
the  '  Palatial  Residence  '  after  all,  would  n't  it  ?  "  said  Ai'thur, 
laughing. 

"Arthur,  don't !  It  is  not  nice  to  have  the  child's  name 
cou])l<!<l  with  — with  any  one,"  said  Graeme. 

"  It  may  not  be  nice,  but  it  cannot  be  helped,"  said  Hany. 
"  It  is  the  pi-nalty  that  very  pretty  girls,  like  Rose,  have  to 
pay  for  their  lieauty — especially  when  they  are  aware  of  it — 
as  Rose  has  good  right  to  be  by  this  time.  Small  blame  to 
her." 

"  And  I  don't  see  that  there  is  really  anything  to  be  an- 
noyed about,  Graeme,"  said  Arthur.  "AgTcat  deal  more 
than  the  coupling  of  names  might  happen  without  Rosio 
being  to  bljinio,  as  no  one  should  know  better  than  you." 

"  Of  course.  "NVc  arc  not  speaking  of  blame,  and  we  will 
say  no  mon?  about  it,"  said  Graeme,  rising  ;  and  nothing 
more  w  as  said  By  and  by  Harry  and  his  friend  and  partner 
rose  to  go.     They  lived  together,  now,  in  the  house  bohiud 


JANKT'ri    LOVK    AND    BERVICi:. 


453 


tho  willow  trees,  wlilcli  Hose  had  taken  such  ])l(asiirp  in 
watchinr^'.  It  was  a  very  a;.;Tceal)lo  jtlacc!  of  rcsiilincc!  siill, 
thou^'h  a  loss  fashionahlo  locality  than  it  usrd  to  he  ;  and 
thov  wei'o  fortunati!  euon^'li  to  luivo  the  etlicicnt  and  kindly 
Nelly  as  housekeeper  and  ^'eneral  caretaker  still,  and  she 
maf,niilied  her  otlicc.'. 

Han-y  had  some  last  words  to  exeliaii/^'e  with  Arlhur,  nnd 
then  IVIi*.  i\rillar  ai)proaehed  (Jraenie  and  said,  with  a  smile 
that  was  rather  forced  and  unc'ertain, 

"I  onj,dit  to  a])olo^izo  for  coming'  back  to  the  subject 
again.  I  dou't  think  you  believe  me  likely  to  s[)eak  of  your 
sister  in  a  way  that  would  displease  you.  ^Von't  you  just 
say  so  to  me  V  " 

"Charlie!  I  kuow  vou  could  not.  You  are  on(!  of  our- 
selves." 

Charlie's  face  Ini^htened.  Of  late  it  had  Ix-en  "  Mr. 
Millar,"  mostly — not  that  (Iraeme  liked  him  k  ss  tlian  she 
used  to  do  ;  but  she  saw  him  less  fre(|uently,  and  he  was  no 
longer  a  boy,  even  to  her.  But  this  time  it  was,  •'Charlie," 
and  ho  was  very  nuic.h  pleased. 

"You  have  been  quite  a  stranger,  lately,"  slie  went  on; 
"but  now  that  ^L's.  Elliott  is  better  and  Hose  coming  honjo, 
we  shall  l)e  livelier  and  bc;tt.er  worth  visiting.  AVe  cannot 
bring  the  old  times  ([uite  back,  even  with  Hanw  and  Rose, 
but  we  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you." 

She  spoke  cordially,  as  she  ft.'lt,  and  ho  tried  to  answer  in 
the  same  v/ay  ;  but  ho  was  grave,  and  (hd  not  us(3  many 
words. 

"  I  hope  there  is  nothing  wrong,"  said  Graeme,  obscrvuig 
his  changing  lot)k. 

"  Nothuig  for  which  there  is  any  help,"  said  he.  "  No,  there 
is  nothing  wrong." 

"  I  am  ready,  Charlie,"  said  Harry,  coming  forward,  "And 
Graeme,  vou  arc  not  to  trouble  vourself  about  llosie's  con- 
quests.  When  she  goes  to  her  own  house — '  iialatial '  or 
otherwise — and  the  sooner  the  better  for  all  concerned — you 
are  coming  to  take  care  of  Charhe  and  me." 


454 


.TANKTB    LOVK    AND   SKHVICE. 


i 


"  Thoro  miiy  1)0  two  or  tyreo  words  to  bo  said  on  that 
Kul)jt>('t,"  Hiiid  Ardiiir,  liiuj^liiii;^'. 

"I  jun  sure  neither  you  nor  Funny  will  venture  to  object ; 
you  have  h:ul  (Inu'iue  all  your  life — at  hvist  for  the  l.-ist  seven 
y(!ai'H.  I  should  like  to  hear  you,  just.  I  am  not  joking, 
(iraeine." 

Oraenu!  laughed. 

"  There  is  no  hurrv  about  it,  is  tliero  t  I  have  heard  of 
people;  changing  tlieir  nunds  ;  and  I  wcm't  set  my  lieart  on 
it,  in  case  I  shoidd  be  disai)pointcd." 


CHAPTER    XXXVITl. 


SO  Rose  came  Ijonio  at  lust.  Not  just  tlu;  Rose  \vho  had 
loft  them,  now  moi'o  than  two  years  ago,  even  iu  the 
eyes  of  her  sister.  Her  brothers  thouj^'ht  her  j^'rcatly  ehangeil 
and  imju'oved.  She  was  more  womanly,  and  dipiitiod,  and 
self-reliant,  they  said,  and  Graeme  assented,  wondering  and 
pleased,  thongli  it  had  been  the  desire  of  her  hc^art  that  Inr 
sister  should  come  back  to  her  just  what  she  was  when  sho 
went  away. 

She  would  probably  have  changed  quite  as  much  during 
those  two  years,  had  they  Ijeen  i)assed  at  home,  though  they 
might  not  have  seen  it  so  plainly.  But  iVi'thur  dcjclared  that 
she  had  become  Americanized  to  an  astonishing  degree,  not 
making  it  quite  clear  whether  ho  thought  that  an  improve- 
ment, indeed  not  being  very  clear  about  it  himself.  IlaiTy 
agreed  with  him,  without  the  reservation  ;  for  Harry  admu'cd 
the  American  ladies,  and  took  in  good  part  Rose's  hints  and 
congratulations  v/ith  regard  to  a  ccrtaui  Miss  Cora  Snider, 

an  heiress  and  a  beauty  of  C .      "A  trifle  older  than 

Harry,"  explained  she,  laughing,  aside  to  Graeme  ;  "  but 
that,  of  course,  is  a  small  matter,  comparatively,  other  things 
being  agi'eeablc." 

"Of  coui'se,"  said  Harr}*,  with  a  shrug  that  set  Graeme's 
fancy  at  rest  about  ]Miss  Cora  Snider. 

In  less  time  than  Graeme  at  first  supposed  po.ssiijle,  they 
fell  back  into  their  old  wavs  again.  Rose's  dignitv  and  self- 
rehanco  were  for  her  brothers  and  her  friends  generally. 
With  Graeme  sho  was,  in  a  day  or  two,  just  what  sho  had 
been  before  she  went  away — a  dear  cliild  and  sister,  to  bo 

(455) 


^nm 


456 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


\m 


chcclcGtl  and  clii  Jod,  now  and  then  ;  to  bo  caressed  and  cared 
for  always  ;  growin^,',  day  by  day,  dcurcr  and  fairer  to  her 
sister's  loving-  eyes.  She  was  <^\iu\  to  be  at  home  aj^^ain.  Sho 
was  very  fond  oi  Norman  and  Hilda  and  their  boys,  and  sho 
had  been  very  happy  with  tliem  ;  l)nt  there  was  no  one  like 
Clrat'iiic,  and  tlunx!  was  no  place  like  home.  So  slie  fell  into 
her  old  place  and  ways,  and  was  so  exactly  the  Kosie  of  old 
times,  that  (jraenic  smiled  in  secret  over  the  idea  of  her 
child  ha^in;»  been  in  dan,ij;cr  of  bein;^  spoiled  by  admii'ation 
or  by  a  love  of  it.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  beheve  that 
a  lovG  of  pleasure  would  lot  her  be  so  content  with  their 
quiet  life,  their  household  <jccupati<3ns,  their  unvaried  round 
of  social  duties  and  pleasures.  Admired  she  might  iiavo 
been,  but  it  had  not  harmed  her  ;  sho  had  come  back  to 
tliem  quite  unsi)oiled,  heart  free  and  fancy  free,  Graeme  said 
to  herself,  with  a  sense  of  relief  and  thankfulness  that  grow 
more  assured  as  the  tinie  went  on. 

**It  amuses  mo  very  much  to  hear  Arthur  say  I  am 
changed,"  said  liose,  one  day,  when  the  sisters  were  sitting  to- 
gether. "  AVhy,  if  I  had  come  homo  a  strong-minded  woman 
aiul  the  president  of  a  convention,  it  would  htivc  been  nothing 
to  the  change  that  h.as  taken  place  in  Fanny,  which  I  dare- 
say he  does  not  see  at  all,  as  a  (,*hango  ;  ho  always  was  rather 
blind  whci'o  she  was  concerned.  But  what  have  you  being 
doing  to  Fanny,  (Iraenxe?" 

"  Kose,  my  dear,"  said  (Jraeme,  gravely,  "Fann^'has  had 
a  gi'eat  deal  of  sickness  and  suli'Ting,  and  her  change  is  for  the 
better,  I  am  sure  ;  and,  besides,  are  you  not  spoakuig  a  little 
foolishly  ?" 

"  Well,  perhai)^  so,  but  not  unkindly,  as  far  as  Fanny  is 
concerned.  For  the  better!  I  should  thbik  so.  But  then  I 
fancied  that  Fanny  was  just  the  one  to  grow  peevish  in  sick- 
ness, and  ill  io  do  with,  as  Janet  would  say  ;  and  I  confess, 
when  I  heard  of  the  arrival  of  young  iii'thur,  I  was  afraid, 
remembering  old  times,  and  her  httlc  aii's,  that  sho  might  not 
be  easier  to  hve  with." 

*'  Now,  Ilosio,  that  is  not  quite  kind."' 


JA^IETS    LOVE    AND   PERVICK. 


457 


"  But  it  is  quit(;  true.  That  is  just  what  I  thou<;ht  iirst,  and 
what  I  said  to  Xoruian.  I  laiow  you  said  how  nice  sho  was, 
and  how  sweet,  and  jdl  that,  but  I  thouj^ht  that  was  just  j-our 
way  of  seeing  thm<i;s  ;  30U  ne\er  would  sec  Fanny's  faults, 
you  know,  even  at  the  very  fii'st." 

Graeme  shook  her  head. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  forfifotten  ri])out  the  very  tii*st. 
Wo  were  both  foolish  and  faitliless,  then.  It  has  all  como 
right ;  Arthur  is  very  liappy  in  his  wife,  tliough  I  never 
thought  it  could  be  in  those  days." 

There  was  a  long  pause  afl  •:;•  that,  and  then  II  jso  said, 

"You  must  have  had  a  -.ery  anxious  time,  and  a  great 
deal  to  do,  when  she  was  so  long  ill  that  Iir.st  winter.  I  ought 
to  ha\o  been  hero  to  help  you,  and  I  should  have  been,  if  I 
had  known." 

"  I  wished  for  you  often,  but  I  did  not  have  too  mueh  to  do, 
or  to  endure.     I  am  none  tho  W(jrse  for  it  all." 

"  No, "  said  Rose,  and  she  came  over  and  kissed  her  sister, 
and  then  sat  down  again.  Grjiemo  looked  very  much  pleased, 
and  a  little  surprised.  Rose  took  up  her  work,  and  said, 
with  a  laugh  that  veiled  some  feeling, 

"  I  think  you  have  changed — improved — alnu>st  as  much  us 
Fanny,  though  there  was  not  so  nmch  need." 

Graeme  laughed,  too. 

"  There  was  more  need  for  unprovement  than  you  know  or 
can  imagine.     I  am  glad  you  see  any." 

"  1  oiii  an  -.lous  about  one  tiling,  however,  and  so  is  Fanny, 
I  am  f  ure,"'  said  Rose,  as  Fanny  came  mto  the  room,  with  her 
bab\  i>  her  arms.     "  I  think  I  see  an  intention  on  vour  i>:irt 

k/  t.  J. 

to  becoiue  stout.  I  don't  obj(3(;t  to  a  certain  roundness,  but 
it  may  be  too  decided." 

"  Graeme  too  stout!  How  can  you  say  such  things,  Rosie?" 
said  Fanny,  indignantly. 

"  She  is  not  so  slendor  os  when  I  went  away." 

"  No,  but  she  was  too  slender  then.  iVrthur  thinks  she  is 
growing  liandsomer,  and  so  do  I." 

"Well,  perhaps,"  said  Rose,  making  bclii've  to  examuio 
20 


-I-    !■ 


•■  v: 


45S 


.TAM:T  S    Lt>VK    AND   SKKVirE 


i 


ft 


Graonic  criticiiUy  ;  "slill  I  must  wiirii  li3i-  !i;4-;iiiist  fiitarc  pos- 
sibilities as  to  HtoutnoHS — Jiiul  otliur  tlu;i^>fs."' 

"It  is  not  the  stoutnoss  tiiiit  tlisphjasos  her,  IVniiy,"  said 
Graonic,  lauj^'hin.^- ;  "it  is  tin;  niiil<ll<;-!i^i;(l  look  that  is  set- 
tliufj^  down  u])on  mo,  that  sht;  isdiscout'-ntcd  with." 

"  I'aniiy,"  said  Rose,  "don't  contradict  licr.  "She  says 
that  on  pnrposo  to  bo  contradict»Ml.  A  middlc-afj^cd  look,  is 
it?     I  diiro  say  it  is!" 

"A  k)ok  of  conientmont  with  tliin<;'s  as  tin !V  arc,"  said 
(h'aciiic.  '■  There  is  a  look  of  expectation  on  most  i/num/  Lmcs, 
you  know,  a  hopeful  look,  wl'ich  too  often  chan<jfes  to  an 
aiixiods  look,  or  look  of  disap])ointinent,  as  youth  ])iisscs 
away.  I  iuc:in,  of  coiu'se,  with  Hin;.;h>  woiueii.  1  sujipose  it 
is  that  witli  mc  ;  oi-,  do  I  look  as  if  I  were  setthu}^  down  con- 
ter.t  with  thiM<j;s  as  th(>y  are  ':" 

"  (irjUMMG,'''  said  her  sister,  "  if  s  )me  pot)j)h^  wer(;  to  sj)eak 
like  that  in  my  hearin^j:,  I  should  say  it  sounded  ji  little  like 
atVectatJoii.-' 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  politeness,  alone,  which  previints  you  from 
savin<i[  it  to  mo  .'" 

'■  lUit  it  is  idl  uonsi'ns(>,  ('Iraeme  (h'ar,"  said  Fanny. 

"  How  old  arc  you,  (iraiMue?"'  said  li  )se.  "  Middle-a^;-ed, 
indeed !" 

"  Kosio,  does  not  ten  years  seem  a  loii^  time  to  look  for- 
ward to  ?  Shall  you  not  be-^in  to  think  yourself  middle-a;,'(!d 
ton  vi'a.rs  hence  ?" 

"  Certjiinly  not  ;  by  no  means  ;  I  have  no  such  intention, 
imless,  imieed — .    IJut  we  won't  speak  about  such  unpleasant 


I'c  vou  do 


that?"' 


thuifjfs.     Fanny  shan't  1  take  the  baby  wii 

"  If  ;on  would  like  to  take  him,"  siiid  Fauny,  with  somo 
hesitation. 

Baby  was  a  subject  on  which  Rose  and  Faimy  had  not 
(piitccome  to  a  nmtual  understanding.  Rose  was  not  so  im- 
pressed with  the  wondcu'ful  attractions  of  her  son  as  Fanny 
thought  8lu>  oujL^ht  to  be.  Fven(ri-aeme  had  been  snr[)riseil 
at  her  inditreroni-i>  to  the  charms  of  hi-r  nephew,  ami  expostu- 
lati'd  with  iier  on  the  aubject.     liut  llo.se  had  had  a  surfeit  of 


JAXKTS    I.oVi:    AM)    SKUVICK. 


451) 


k  von  from 


baby  swootncss,  and,  after  Hilda's  strong',  beautiful  boya, 
Fanny's  littlo,  dclicato  thrco  nioiiths'  baby  was  a  disa^)- 
poiiitniont  to  her,  an<l  she  iiiad(!  no  sccrot  of  hor  anniscnicnt 
at  the  d(.'Votion  of  (Iraciuc,  and  tbo  rai)ttiics  of  liis  mother 


over  liini.  ])nt  now,  as  she  took  him  in  her  arms,  she  aston- 
isiied  them  with  such  ehxienee  of  l)aby-talk  as  baby  had  never 
heard  before.  Fainiy  was  delixlited.  Happily  (Iraeme  pre- 
vented Iho  {juestion  that  trembled  on  her  lips  as  to  the  eom- 
parative  nusrits  of  her  nejOiews,  by  saying', 

"Well  <lone,  Eositi!     If  only  Harry  could  hear  you  I" 

"  I  have  of! en  wished  that  Hilda  could  see  and  Ilea:  you 
both  over  iliis  litth;  mortal.  Yon  slmuM  sec;  Hilda,  Does 
not  sh<;  i)rt>serve  her  ei|nanimity  ?  I'ancy  her  waikin<.,'  the 
room  for  hours  with  any  of  her  boys,  as  you  did  Ihe  other 
ni<jht  witli  this  one.  Not  siii>,  indeed,  iioi-  any  ont-  else,  with 
her  ])ermission." 

"  I  thought  —  [am  sure  vou  have  always  spok<.'n  about  Hilda 
as  a  model  mother,"  said  Fanny,  doubtfully. 

"  And  a  foutl  mother,"  said  (Iraeme. 

"  Sli(!  /•>■  a  model  mother  ;  she  is  fond,  but  she  is  wise," said 
Hose,  noddin;^  her  liead.     "  I  say  no  morcf." 

"  i'\inny  dear,  we  shall  have  to  learn  of  Hose.  Wc  aro 
very  in(>x]HM*ienced  ])eoplo,  I  fear,"  said  (ira'Miie,  smilin;^'. 

"Well,  I  daresny  even  I  mi^'ht  t('aeh  yuu  something.,'  But 
you  should  see  Hilda  ami  her  babies.  Her  eld(;st  sor  is 
three  years  oM,  and  her  seeond  will  soon  be  two,  and  her 
dau,L,diter  is  four  months.  Siipj)ose  she  had  be^nm  by  walk- 
ing' all  nij^ht  with  each  of  them,  and  by  lunuorinj^  (:very 
whim  V" 

And  then  Rose  be;,;an  her  talk  with  the  baby  n'^'ain,  sayinpf 
all  sorts  of  thin<,'s  about  the  fond  f(»olishness  of  his  littl>> 
mamma  and  his  Aunt  (Iraeme,  tiiat  it  would  not  have  Imcu 
at  all  pretty,  sluvirKnowled'^'ed,  to  say  to  thi'mselves.  (li'aeme 
listened,  smilin;^',  but  Fanny  looked  anxious. 

"  Rose,"  said  she,  tell  me  about  Hilda's  way.  I  want  to 
have  the  very  best  way  witli  baby.  T  know  I  am  iiot  very  wise, 
but  I  do  wish  to  learn  and  to  <lo  rij^^htl" 


4f)0 


JANKt's    LOVK    and    SKliVICE. 


Her  words  and  her  miinncr  rcMiiiadcMl  Rose  so  forcihly,  by 
contract,  of  the  J'^iuiiy  whoso  vanity  and  self-asserliun  had 
been  such  a  voxatit)U  so  ofcen,  that,  in  thinkinj^  of  thoHO  old 
times,  she  forgot  to  answer  her,  and  sat  phiyhig  with  tho 
chihVs  chisping  fihi^ers. 

"Slio  thinks  I  will  never  be  like  Hilda,"  said  Fanny,  dole- 
fully, to  (iraemc. 

liose  shook  her  head. 

"  Tliere  are  not  many  Uko  Hilda  ;  but  I  don't  see  any 
reason  why  you  should  not  be  as  f?ood  a  mother  as  she  is,  and 
have  as  obedient  children.  You  have  as  good  a  teacher.  No, 
don't  look  at  (iraeme.  I  know  what  you  mean.  She  has 
taui^ht  you  ail  the  ^oiA  thnf  ia  in  y.>u.  There  are  more  of  us 
who  could  say  the  same — cxi'opt  for  makin,ijf  her  vain.  It  is 
this  young  gentleman,  I  mean,  who  is  to  teach  you." 

And  she  began  her  extraordinary  conlidences  to  the  child, 
till  (iracme  and  T'anny  were  both  laughing  lieai*tily  at  her 
nonsense. 

'•  I'll  tell  you  what,  Fanny,"  said  she,  lookhig  up  in  a 
little.  "  It  is  the  mother-love  that  makes  one  wise,  and 
Solomon  has  scmiething  to  do  with  it.  You  must  take  him 
into  your  confidence.  But,  dear  me !  Think  of  my  ventiu*- 
ing  to  give  you  good  advice.     I  might  be  Janet  herself." 

"  But,  Ilosie,  dear,"  said  Graenu',  still  laughing,  ''  Solomon 
has  nothing  to  say  about  such  infants  as  this  one." 

"Has  he  not  J  "Well,  that  is  Hilda's  mistake,  then.  She 
is  responsible  for  my  opinions.  I  know  nothuig.  The  wis- 
dom I  am  dispensing  so  freely  is  entirely  hers.  You  must  go 
and  see  Hilda  and  her  babies,  and  you  will  understand  all 
about  it." 

"  I  mean  to  go  and  see  her,  not  entirely  for  the  sake  of  her 
wisdom,  however,  thou->h  it  must  be  wonderful  to  have  un- 
pi'essed  you  so  deeply." 

"Yes,  it  /x  wt)ndcrful.  But  you  will  be  in  no  huny  about 
going,  will  you'?  Two  or  three  years  hence  will  be  time 
(>n()ugh,  I  should  thiidc.  I  mean  to  content  myself  Iutc  for 
that  time,  and  you  are  not  going  tliere,  or  anywhere,  willnait 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


4G1 


i-i])ly,  by 
Lion  liiul 

svith  ilio 

uy,  tli)lc- 


,  SCO  any 
10  is,  and 
^licr.  No, 
She  has 
loro  t)f  us 
in.     It  is 

the  child, 
ly  at  her 

up  in  a 

*viso,  and 

iko  him 

w'utur- 

klf." 
Solomon 

Ml.     She 

The  wis- 

nmst  go 

'stand  all 

ikc  of  her 
have  im- 

iTv  about 
be  time 
luTi'  i'<»r 

,  uilhout 


mc.     That  is  quite  decided,  Nvhatever  aiTangcments  Nomian 
may  have  made.' 

'*I  don't  think  he  will  ol)jeet  to  yom*  gomg  with  mc,  if 
Arthur  dots  n't,  and  Fanny,"  said  Grac^nie,  smiling. 

"  Possibly  not.  But  I  am  not  j,'oing  yet.  And  no  plan 
that  is  meant  to  separate  you  and  me  shall  prosper,"  said 
Rose,  with  more  heat  than  the  oecasitm  seemed  to  call  for,  as 
though  the  subject  had  been  previously  discussed  in  a  manner 
not  to  her  liking.  Crraemo  looked  grave  and  was  silent  a 
moment,  then  she  said, 

"  I  remember  saying  almost  these  very  w(n*ds  before  wo 
went  to  Merlevilh.',  to  I'-mily's  wedding.  But  you  know  how 
difl'erently  it  turned  cmt  for  you  and  me.  We  will  keep  to- 
gether while  we  can,  dear,  but  we  must  not  set  t)ur  hearts 
U[)on  it,  or  uptm  any  other  earthly  good,  as  though  we  know 
best  what  is  for  our  own  hiippiness." 

"  AVell,  I  suppose  that  is  the  right  way  to  look  at  it.  But 
I  '.nil  to  be  vour  tirst  C(jnsi deration  this  winter,  vou  must 
reniemljer,  and  you  are  to  bo  mine." 

"(Jraeme,"  said  Fanny,  eai'nestly,  "I  dim't  think  Hose  is 
spoiled  in  the  least." 

Fanny  made  malapropos  speeches  sometimes  still,  but  they 
were  never  unkindly  meant  now,  and  she  looked  with  veiy 
loving  eyes  from  one  sister  to  the  other. 

"I  hope  you  did  not  think  Hilda  was  going  to  spoil  mo. 
Did  you'?"  suid  Iios(>,  laughing. 

"  No;  not  Hilda;  and  it  was  not  I  who  thought  so,  nor 
(iraeme.  But  Hurry  said  you  were  admired  more  than  was 
good  for  you,  perhaps,  and " 

Hose  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Oh!  Harry  is  too  wise  for  anything.  I  had  a  woi'd  or 
two  with  him  on  that  subject  myself,  the  lust  time  he  was  ont 
at  Norman's.  You  must  not  mintl  what  Harry  says  about 
me,  Fanny,  dear." 

"  ]3ut,  Hose,  you  are  not  to  thhik  that  Harr\  said  anything 
that  was  not  niee.  It  wan  one  night  when  Mr.  JJillar  wsi« 
Lero,  and  there  was  something  tsiid  aljout  ^Lr.  (Jieen.     Ab4 


I       ! 


...        ( 


4r,2 


JAM/rs    I.OVK    ANI>   SKRVICi;. 


Hi 


if 


'ivU 


he  thoiiQ^lit — ono  of  them  th(ii:;.':ht  that  3'oii — that  he 1 

have  iV)ri(()ttou  what  wuh  Haul.     \Vhai  was  it,  (Jracrne?     You 
Avcrc  hero  as  v»'ell  as  I." 

"  I  am  very  sure  there  was  nothing'  said  that  was  not  nice," 
said  Clraeme.  "  I  don't  quite  remember  a-hout  it.  There  was 
nothiiij*  worth  rememl)erin^'  or  repeating." 

"I  daresay  Hairy  told  you  I  was  a  llirt.  He  told  mo  so, 
myself,  once,"  said  Hose,  tossing  her  head  in  a  way  (jJraemo 
did  not  like  to  see. 

*'  Hush,  dear.     Ho  said  nothinj^  unlcind,  you  may  he  sure." 

"And,  now  I  remember,  it  was  r.ot  Harry  but  ^Nlr.  ^Millar 
who  spoke  about  ^Nlr.  (ireen,"  said  FiUiuy,  ''and  alnjut  tho 
'  l)alatial  residence,'  and  how  Kose,  if  she  liked,  miglit " 

Koso  moved  about  impatiently. 

"  I  mast  say  I  cannot  admire;  the  taste  that  would  permit 
th(!  discussion  of  any  thiny  of  that  sort  with  a  stran^^fcr,''  said 
she,  angrily. 

"  ^ly  dear,  you  arc  speakin;^  foolishly.  There  was  no  such 
discussion.  And  if  you  say  anythinj^'  more  on  the  subject,  I 
shall  think  that  Harry  was  ri^'ht  when  he  said  you  were  Ixjnd 
of  admiration,  and  that  your  conscience  is  tronblinjj;'  you 
about  sonu'thing.  Here  comes  nur.se  for  baby.  I  Hup[)oso  it 
is  time  for  his  bath,  is  it  manmia?  " 

I'anny  left  tho  room  with  tlie  cliild,  and,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' silence.  Hose  said,  with  an  eftort, 

"Now,  (Iraemo,  please  tell  mo  what  all  this  is  about." 

"  Dear,  there  is  nothinj]f  to  tell.  I  fancy  Harrv  used  to 
think  that  I  was  too  anxious  and  caj:;er  about  your  comin;jf 
home,  and  wanted  to  remind  me  that  vou  were  no  lon^-cr  a 
child,  but  a  woman,  who  was  aihnired,  and  v.ho  nn'yht,  Ijy  and 
bv,  learn  to  can*  for  some  one  else,  more  than  for  vour  sistir 
and  In-others.  liut  he  did  nt)t  serionslv  say  anvtliinj^  that 
you  need  care  about.  It  would  have  been  as  well,  jierhaps, 
not  to  hav(!  said  anythinjjf  in  'Slv.  ^Millar's  presence,  since  wo 
seem  io  ]v.i\o  fallen  a  li!t!e  out  of  acciuainlanee  with  him  late- 
ly. But  Harr\  has  not,  and  he  did  not  consider,  and,  indeed, 
there  was  nothing  said  that  he  might  not  very  weil  hear." 


JANET  M    T.dVK    AM)    RKKVU'i:. 


4r,;} 


Iff 
'•I 


"It  RCcniH  it  w!is  lio  wlio  l)ft(l  most  to  Hay." 

"No.  You  ra-o  iiiishikcn.  Fiiniiy  did  not  roinciul)(>r  cor- 
roctlv.  It  was  cither  Arthur  or  Ilarrv  who  had  souiethintif  to 
Hay  about  'Mv.  (Irecsn.  I  don't  tliink  Charlio  had  anytliin^'  to 
Ray  about  it.  I  am  sure  ho  would  be  the  last  one  willin<,'ly  to 
disi)l(asu  nic  or  von.  And,  really,  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
be  aiij^ry  aboul;  it,  d(!ar  Ilosie." 

"I  am  Jiot  ani'ry.  "Why  sliould  I  be  anjn'y?"  But  she 
reddened  as  she  nu;t  (Iraeme's  eye.  (Jraenie  looked  at  her  in 
some  suq>ris('. 

"  Harry  is — is  unbearable  sometimes,"  said  Kose.     "  Faney 

his  takiuf^  nu;  to  task  about — about  his  friend Oh  !  there 

is  no  use  talkin*,'  about  it.     Graeme,  are  you  pfoin^i'  out?" 

''Yes,  if  you  like.  ]3ut,  Rose,  I  think  you  are  hard  upon 
Ilarrv.  Thei-e  must  bo  some  misunderstandiii''.  A\'hv!  ho 
is  as  fond  ar.d  as  proud  of  you  as  possible.  Y'ou  must  not  bo 
yain  when  I  say  so." 

"Tliat  does  lu.t  prevent  his  bein<^  very  unreasonable,  all 
the  same.  H(>\vever,  he  seems  to  have  got  over  it,  or  forgot- 
ten it.  Don't  let  us  speak  any  more  about  it,  (iraeme,  or 
think  al)out  it  eith(>r.' 

But  ( Jraeme  did  think  about  it,  and  at  Ihst  had  thoughts 
of  ([U(>stioning  Hurry  with  regard  to  Rose's  cause  of  <iuaiT(>l 
with  him,  l)ut  she  tlumght  ])etter  of  it  and  did  not.  Nor  did 
she  ever  speak  aljout  it  again  to  Rose  ;  but  it  came  into  her 
mind  often  when  she?  saw  the  two  together,  and  once,  when 
slu!  heard  Harry  say  S(;mething  to  Rose  al)out  her  distance 
and  (li'jfnity,  and  how  uncalled  for  all  that  sort  of  thing  was, 
she  would  hiiv!  liked  to  know  to  what  he  was  referring 
to,  but  she  did  not  ask,  for,  notvvitlistandiiig  little  disagree- 
ments of  this  kind,  tliev  went  evideiitlv  excellent  friends. 

How  exactly  Wkv,  the  old  time  Vjcforc^  Ai'thur".-  marriage, 
and  l)efore  AVill.  or  Hurry  went  away,  some  ot'  the  d.iys  were, 
that  followed  the  coming  home  of  Rose.  They  seemed  Uko 
the  days  even  longer  ago,  (iraeme  felt,  with  a  sense  of  rest 
and  peace  at  her  heart  un^;[)eakal)le.  I'or  tla;  old  co7itent, 
nay,  something  better  and  more  abiding  had  come  back  to 


m 


I 


■h 


\ 


I 


•n . 


!•■*«;■ 


<  * 


I 


4G4 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


i' 


f 


It: 


t 


'V.  ''  ■ 

ri, 


her.  The  peace  that  comes  after  a  time  of  trouble,  the  con- 
tent that  gi'ows  out  of  soiTow  sanctified,  are  best.  Remem- 
bering what  has  fjono  before,  we  know  how  to  estimate  the 
depth,  and  strength,  and  sweetness — the  shaipness  of  past 
pain  bcmg  a  nieasme  for  the  present  jo}-.  And,  besides,  the 
content  that  comes  to  us  from  God,  out  of  disappointment 
and  sorrow,  is  ours  bej'ond  loss,  because  it  is  God-givcii,  and 
we  need  fear  no  evil. 

So  these  were  tmly  peaceful  days  to  Graeme,  imtroubled 
by  regrets  for  the  past,  or  by  anxious  fears  for  the  future. 
They  were  busy  days,  too,  filled  with  the  occupations  that 
natui'ally  spinmg  out  of  happy  home  life,  and  agreeable  social 
relations.  Rose  had  been  lionored,  beyond  her  deserts,  she 
said,  by  visits  since  she  came  home.  These  had  to  be  re- 
turned, and  Graeme,  who  had  fallen  oft*  from  the  performance 
of  such  duties,  dm'ing  Rose's  absence,  and  Fanny's  illness, 
took  pleasure  in  going  with  her.  She  took  real  plca&iire  in 
many  of  these  visits,  sometimes  because  of  the  renewal  of 
friendly  mterest,  sometimes  for  other  reasons.  The  new  way 
in  which  the  character  and  manner  of  Rose  came  out  never 
failed  to  amuse  her.  At  home,  and  especially  in  her  inter- 
coui'se  with  her,  Rose  was  just  what  she  had  been  as  a  child, 
except  the  difference  that  a  few  added  yeare  must  make. 
But  it  was  by  no  means  so  in  her  mtercoiu'se  with  the  re^t 
of  the  world.  She  had  ideas  and  opinions  of  her  own,  and 
she  had  her  own  way  of  making  them  kno\\'n,  or  of  defending 
them  when  attacked.  There  was  not  much  opportunity  for 
seeing  this  dvunng  brief  formal  visits,  but  now  and  then 
Graeme  got  a  ghmpse  that  gTeatly  amused  her.  The  quiet 
self-possession  with  wliich  she  met  condescending  advances, 
and  accepted  or  declined  comphments,  the  serene  air  with 
wliich  she  ignored  or  rebuked  the  little  pohte  impertinences, 
not  yet  out  of  fashion  in  fine  drawing-rooms,  it  was  some- 
thing to  see.  And  her  perfect  unconsciousness  of  her  sister's 
amusement  or  its  cause  was  best  of  all  to  Graeme.  Artliiu* 
amused  himself  with  this  change  in  her,  also,  and  had  a  bet- 
ter opi)ortunity  to  do  so.     For  Graeme  seldom  went  to  large 


JANET  8   LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


4r,r 


\K 


paiiics,  and  it  was  under  the  clmpcronago  of  ^Irs.  Ai*tlmr 
that  Rose,  as  a  general  thing,  made  her  appearance  in  their 
largo  and  agreeable  cu'cle,  on  occasions  of  more  than  usual 
cercmcjnv.  Not  that  there  Mere  very  many  of  these.  Fanny 
was  perfectly  well  now,  and  enjoyed  these  gay  gatherings  in 
moderation,  but  they  were  not  so  necessary  to  her  hai^piness 
as  they  used  to  be,  and  Rose,  though  she  made  no  secret  of 
the  pleasure  she  took  m  them,  was  not  unreasonable  in  her 
devotion  to  society.  So  the  wintd*  was  rather  ([uit.'t  than 
othei-wise,  and  Graeme  and  Rose  found  themselves  with  a 
good  deal  of  leisure  time  at  theu*  disposal. 

For  ti*ue  to  her  first  idea  of  what  was  for  the  happiness  of 
her  brother's  household,  Graeme,  as  Fanny  gi'ew  stronger, 
gradually  withdrew  from  the  bearing  of  resjionsibility  where 
household  matters  were  concerned,  and  suil'ered  it  to  fall,  as 
she  felt  it  to  be  right,  on  Arthur's  wife.  Not  that  she  refused 
to  be  helpful,  either  in  word  or  in  deed,  but  it  was  as  much 
as  possible  at  the  bidding  of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  It 
was  not  always  veiy  easy  to  do,  often  not  by  any  means  so 
easy  as  it  would  have  been  to  go  on  in  the  old  way,  but  she 
was  very  much  in  earaest  about  this  thing.  It  was  right  that 
it  should  be  so,  for  many  reasons.  The  responsibihties,  as 
well  as  the  honor,  due  to  the  mistress  of  the  house,  were 
Fanny's.  These  could  not,  she  being  in  health  and  able  to 
bear  them,  be  assumed  by  her  sister  without  mutual  injury. 
The  honor  and  responsibility  could  not  bo  separated  without 
danger  and  loss.  All  this  Graeme  tried  to  make  Fanny  see 
without  using  many  words,  and  she  had  a  more  docile  pui)il 
than  she  would  have  had  duiing  the  first  jear  of  her  married 
life.  For  Fanny  had  now  entu*e  confidence  in  the  wisdom 
and  love  of  her  sister,  and  did  her  best  to  profit  by  lier 
teaching. 

It  was  the  same  where  the  child  was  concerned,  ^\llilo 
she  watched  over  both  with  loving  care,  she  liesitatcd  to  in- 
terfere or  to  give  advice,  even  in  small  matters,  lest  she  should 
lessen  in  the  least  degree  the  young  mother's  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, knowing  this  to  be  the  best  and  surest  guide  to  the 


r-. 


ll 


•■>  rj: 


■  r  >  1 


|;«H 


■#■, 


l,i 


■I  fl 


t,;* 


4fi<> 


JANCT  8    LOVE   AND  SERVICE. 


Ill 


uiso  ninl  ftiitlifiil  pfrfornianco  of  a  mother's  duties.  And 
overv  day  hIio  wjis  {,Towinjjf  happier  in  the  assurimce  that  all 
waH  coniiii*^  ri^^'ht  with  her  sister,  that  she  was  learning'  the 
best  of  all  wisiloni,  the  wisdom  of  gentleness  and  self-l'« )i<(et- 
fulness,  and  of  devotion  to  the  welfare  of  others,  and  that  all 
this  was  heaniifj  fniit  in  the  ^'eatcr  happiness  of  tlie  h()ns(!- 
hold.  And  iH-sides  this,  or  rather  as  a  result  of  this,  slic 
bade  fair  to  be  a  notable  little  housemother  also  ;  a  httlo 
over-anxious,  i^jrhaps,  and  not  very  patient  with  her  own  fail- 
nres,  or  with  the  failures  of  others,  but  still  in  earnest  to 
attain  success,  and  to  bo  in  all  things  what  in  the  old  times 
she  had  onl}'  cared  to  seeni. 

Though  Harrv  did  not  now  form  one  of  the  household,  ho 
was  with  them  veiy  often.  Mr.  Millar  did  not  quite  full  into 
the  pla«?e  which  HaiTy's  friend  Charlie  had  occupied,  but 
though  he  said  less  about  his  enjojnnent  of  the  friendshij)  of 
their  circle,  it  was  evident  that  it  was  not  because  he  enjoyed 
it  less  than  in  th(!  old  times.  He  had  only  changed  since 
then  by  growing  quieter  and  graver,  as  they  all  had  done. 
His  brother's  determination  not  to  return  to  Canada  had  been 
a  gi'cat  (hsappointmcnt  to  him  at  the  time,  and  he  still  re- 
gretted it  very  much,  but  ho  said  httlo  about  it,  less  than  was 
quite  natural,  ])erhaps,  considei'ing  that  the}'  had  once  been 
such  fi'iends.  Cmnimstances  had  made  the  brothers  strangers 
dui-ijig  the  l>oyhood  of  the  younger,  and  it  was  hard  that  cir- 
cumstances should  separate  them  again,  just  as  they  had  been 
beginnhig  to  know  and  to  value  each  other.  Charlie  liad 
hoped  for  a  l(jng  time  that  Allan  might  come  back  after  a 
j'car  or  two  ;  for  his  estate  was  by  no  means  a  large  one,  and 
ho  believed  that  he  would  soon  weary  of  a  hfe  of  inactivity, 
and  return  trj  business  again.  Ho  was  still  j'oung,  and  might, 
with  his  knowledge  and  experience,  do  anything  he  liked  in 
the  way  of  making  money,  Charlie  thought,  and  he  could  not 
be  satisliinl  with  his  decision.  But  Will.,  who  had  visited  Al- 
lan lately,  assured  Charlie  that  his  brother  was  setthng  down 
to  the  enjoyment  of  a  quiet  coiuitry  life,  and  that  though  he 


JANKTr^    LOVK   AND   bEUVICE. 


407 


mif^lit  visit  Cftiiiida,  there  was  little  chance  of  liis  ever  making 
that  country  his  home  afTj-iiui. 

"I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  said  iVrthur,  one  nif^dit,  uh 
thoy  were  discusshi^'  the  matter  in  connection  witli  AV'ill  's 
last  letter.  "  You  ilon't  display  your  usual  f^ood  jud<.,ancnt, 
Charlie,  mail,  \vher(>  vour  brother  is  con(!ernod.  \S'h\  sliould 
ho  return  V  He  is  enjoyui'^  now,  ti  comparatively  youn^'  man, 
all  that  you  and  Harry  expect  to  enjoy  after  some  twenty  or 
thirty  years  of  hai'd  labor — a  competency  in  society  con<?enial 
to  him.     AVhy  should  Ik;  wait  for  this  longer  than  he  need?" 

"  Twontv  or  thirtv  years !"  said  1  larry.  "  Not  if  I  know  it. 
You  are  tliinkinj,'  of  old  times.  Biit  I  nmst  say  I  agree  with 
Charlie.  It  is  strange  that  Mr.  lluthven  should  be  content 
to  sit  down  in  comparative  idleness,  for,  of  course,  the  idea  of 
farming  his  own  land  is  a])surd.  And  to  tell  you  the  ti-uth,  I 
never  tliought  him  one  to  be  satisfied  witli  a  mere  compe- 
tencv.    I  thoufj^ht  him  at  one  time  ambitious  to  become  a  rich 


man — a  gi'eat  merchant." 


"  It  would  not  bo  safe  or  wise  to  disparage  the  life  and  aims 
of  a  gi'eat  merchant  ui  your  presence,  HaiTv,"  said  Rose,  "  but 
one  would  think  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  preferable  in 
some  respects." 

"  I  don't  think  Allan  aspires  to  the  position  of  a  countiy 
gentleman — in  the  thgnitied  sense  in  which  the  tenn  is  used, 
where  he  is.  His  place  is  veiy  beautiful,  but  it  is  not  largo 
enough  to  entitle  him  to  the  position  of  one  of  the  great 
landed  proprietors." 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,  the  extent  makes  httle  diflerence.  It  is 
the  land  that  his  fathers  have  held  for  generations,  and  that 
is  a  tlnng  to  be  proud  of,  and  to  give  position,  R(jse  thinks," 
said  Artluu*.  ' 

"His  father  never  owned  it,  and  his  grandfather  did  not 
hold  it  long.  It  was  lost  to  the  name  many  years  ago,  and 
bought  back  again  by  Allan's  uncle  within  ten  years." 

'•  Yes,  with  the  good  money  of  a  good  merchant,"  said 
Harry. 


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JANET  8   LOVE  AND   SI'RVICE. 


"And  (lid  he  make  it  a  condition  tliit  lio  sliould  live  on  it?" 
said  Arthur. 

"  No,  I  think  not.  Allan  never  has  said  any  such  thin^'  a.s 
that  to  ine,  or  to  my  mother." 

"Still  he  may  think  it  his  duty  to  hve  there.*' 

"  I  don't  know.  It  is  not  as  though  it  were  a  large  es-tate, 
with  many  tenants,  to  whom  he  owed  duty  and  care  and  all 
that.  I  think  the  life  suits  him.  My  mother  always  thought 
it  was  a  great  disappointment  to  him  to  be  obhged  t^j  leave 
home  when  he  did  to  enter  upon  a  life  of  business.  He  did 
not  object  decidedly.  There  seemed  at  the  tijiie  nothing  else 
for  him  to  do.     So  he  came  to  Canada." 

"  I  daresay  his  present  life  is  just  the  ver}-  Hfe  he  could 
enjoy  most.  I  wonder  that  you  are  so  vexed  about  his  stay- 
ing at  home,  Charlie." 

"  I  daresay  it  is  selfishness  in  me.  And  yet  I  don't  tliink 
it  is  so  altogether.  I  know,  at  least  I  am  almost  sure,  that  it 
would  be  better  for  him  to  come  here,  at  least  for  a  time.  He 
might  alwaj's  have  the  gouig  home  to  look  fonvard  to." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  how  he  can  content  himself  there,  after 
the  active  hfe  he  hved  on  this  side  of  the  water  ;  he  will  de- 
generate into  an  old  fogie,  vegetating  there,"  said  Harry. 

"  Bist  I  think  you  are  hard  on  yourself,  Mr.  ^Millar,  c:Jhng 
it  selfishness  in  you  to  wish  your  brother  to  be  near  you," 
said  Graeme,  smiling.  "  I  could  find  a  much  nicer  name  for 
it  than  that." 

"  I  would  like  him  to  come  for  his  own  sake,"  said  Charhc. 
"  As  for  me,  I  was  just  beginning  to  know  him — to  know  how 
superior  he  is  to  most  men,  and  then  I  lost  him."  He  paused 
a  moment — 

•'  I  mean,  of  course,  wo  can  see  little  of  each  other  now,  and 
we  shall  find  it  much  easier  to  forget  one  another  i\nm  if  wc 
had  lived  together  and  loved  and  quarreUcnl  with  ea<-h  other 
as  boys.  I  shall  see  him  if  I  go  home  next  summer,  and  I 
don't  despair  of  seeing  him  here  for  a  visit,  at  least," 

'•'Will,  says  he  means  to  come  some  time.    Perhaps  he  will 


% 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


469 


come  back  with  you,  or  with  Will,  himself,  when  he  comes," 
said  Jlose. 

"  Oh  !  the  voyage  is  nothing  ;  a  matter  of  ten  days  or  less," 
said  ^irthur.  "It  is  like  livhig  next  door  neighbors,  in  com- 
parison to  what  it  was  when  we  came  over.  Of  course  ho 
may  come  any  month.  I  don't  understand  yoiu'  desolation, 
Charlie." 

Charlie  laughed,     "  "Wlien  is  Will,  coming  ?" 

"It  does  not  seem  to  be  decided  yet,"  said  Graeme.  lie 
may  come  in  the  spring,  but  if  he  decides  to  travel  first,  as 
he  seems  to  have  an  oppoi*tuuity  to  do,  he  will  not  be  here  till 
next  autiunn,  at  the  soonest.  It  seems  a  long  time  to  i)ut  it 
off,  but  we  ought  not  to  gnidge  the  delay,  especially  as  ho 
may  never  get  another  chance  to  go  so  easily  and  pleas- 
antly." 

"  Wliat  if  Will,  should  think,  like  Mr.  rtuthven,  that  a  life 
at  home  is  to  be  desu'cd  ?  How  would  you  like  that,  girls  ?" 
said  HaiTv. 

*'  Oh  !  but  he  never  could  have  the  same  reason  for  think- 
ing so.  There  is  no  family  estate  ui  his  case,"  said  Hose, 
laughuig. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  Ai'thm*.  "  There  may  be  a  little  dim 
kirk  and  a  low-roofed  manse  waiting  him  somewhere.  Tluit 
would  seem  to  be  the  most  appropiiate  inheritance  for  his 
father's  youngest  son.  AVhat  would  you  say  to  that 
Graeme?" 

"  I  would  rather  say  nothing — think  nothing  about  it,"  said 
Graeme,  hastily.  "It  is  not  likely  that  could  ever  happen. 
It  will  all  be  aiTangcd  for  us,  doubtless." 

"  It  was  very  stupid  of  you,  Harry,  to  say  anything  of  that 
sort  to  Graeme,"  said  Host;.  "Now,  she  will  vex  herself 
about  her  boy,  as  though  it  were  possible  that  he  could  stay 
there.     He  never  will,  I  know." 

"  I  shall  not  vex  myself,  indeed,  Rosie — at  least  I  shall  not 
until  I  have  some  better  reason  for  doing  so,  than  Hany'a 
foolish  speeches.     'Mx.  Miliar,  you  said  you  might  go  homo 


nil' 


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m 

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I 


470 


JANET  B   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


ii. 


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It  I 


I    "  1 

I 


iillilJ! 


next  summer.  Is  that  sometliing  new  ?  Or  is  it  only  new  to 
us?" 

"  It  is  possible  that  I  may  go.  Indeed,  it  is  very  likely.  I 
shall  know  soon." 

"  It  depends  on  circumstances  over  M'hich  he  has  no  con- 
trol," said  Harry,  impressively.  "He  has  my  best  wishes, 
and  ho  would  have  yours,  Graeme,  I  think,  if  you  know  about 
it." 

"He  has  them,  though  I  don't  know  about  it,"  said 
Graeme.    "  I  have  confidence  in  him  that  he  deserves  success." 

"  Yes,  it  is  safe  to  vrish  hun  success — if  not  in  one  thing, 
in  another.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  quite  knows  what  he 
wants  yet,  but  I  think  I  Iniow  what  is  good  for  him." 

"Rosie,"  said  Fanny,  suddenly,  "  Mr.  Millar  can  set  us  right 
now.  I  am  glad  I  thought  of  it.  Mr.  IMillar,  is  Mrs.  Rox- 
bury  your  aunt,  or  only  your  brother's  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  Allan  who  can  claim  so  close  a  re- 
lationship as  that.  I  do  n't  think  I  can  claim  any  relation- 
ship at  all.  I  should  have  to  consider,  before  I  could  make  it 
clear  even  to  myself ,  how  we  are  connected." 

"  It  is  much  better  not  to  consider  the  subject,  then,"  said 
Arthur,  "  as  they  are  rather  desirable  people  to  have  for  rela- 
tions ;  call  them  cousins,  and  let  it  go." 

"  But  at  any  rate  she  is  not  your  amit,  and  Amy  Roxbury 
is  not  your  cousin,  as  some  one  was  insisting  over  Rose  and 
me  the  other  dav.     I  told  vou  so,  Rosie." 

"  Did  you  ?"  said  Rose,  languidly.    "  I  do  n't  remember." 

"It  Avas  Mrs.  Gridlcy,  I  thmk,  and  she  said — no,  it  must 
have  been  some  one  else — slie  said  vou  were  not  cousins,  but 
that  it  was  a  very  couveiucut  relationship,  and  very  pleasant  in 
certain  circmnstanccs." 

"  Very  true,  too,  eh,  Charlie,"  said  Arthur,  laughing. 

"  I  should  S'jarcoly  venture  to  call  Miss  Roxbui'y  cousin," 
said  Charhc. 

"  Slic  is  very  nice,  indeed,"  pursued  Fanny.  "  Rose  fell  in 
love  with  hor  at  first  sight,  and  the  admiration  was  mutual, 
I  think." 


JANET  3   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


471 


ly  new  to 

likelv.     I 

5  no  con- 
st wishes, 
icw  about 

it,"  saitl 
1  success." 
me  thing, 
5  what  he 
I." 

3t  US  right 
Mrs.  Eos- 
close  a  re- 
y  relation- 
klcl  make  it 

len,"  said 
'c  for  rcla- 

Hoxbury 
Rose  and 

lomber." 
.0,  it  must 
msins,  but 
pleasant  iu 

ling. 

y  cousin," 

lose  fell  in 
■is  mutual, 


Rose  shi"Uggcd  her  shoulders. 

"  That  is,  perhaiw,  a  little  strong,  Fanny,  dear.  She  is  veiy 
charming,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  I  am  not  so  apt  to  fall  into 
sudden  admirations  as  I  used  to  be." 

"But  you  admired  her  very  much.  And  you  said  she  was 
very  like  Lily  Elphinstonc,  when  you  first  saw  her.  I  am 
siu-e  you  thought  her  very  lovely,  and  so  did  Graeme." 

"  Did  I  ?•'  said  Rose. 

"  She  is  very  like  her,"  said  Mr.  Millar.  "  I  did  not  notice 
it  till  her  mother  mentioned  it.  She  is  like  her  in  other  res- 
pects, too  ;  but  livelier  and  more  energetic.  She  is  stronger 
than  Lily  used  to  be,  and  perhaps  a  Mttle  more  like  the  modem 
young  lady." 

"  Fast,  a  little,  perhaps,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Oh !  no  ;  not  like  one  in  the  unpleasant  sense  that  the 
word  has.  She  is  self  reliant.  She  has  her  own  ideas  of  men 
and  things,  and  they  are  not  always  the  same  as  her  mamma's. 
But  she  is  a  dutiful  daughter,  and  she  is  c1  arming  with  her 
little  brothers  and  sisters.  Such  a  number  there  are  of  them, 
too." 

Charlie  spoke  eagerly,  looking  at  Graeme. 

"  You  seem  deeply  interested  in  her,"  said  Arthui',  laughing." 

Harry  rose  impatiently. 

"We  should  have  Mrs.  Gridley  here.  I  i  ever  think  a  free 
discussion  of  our  neighbors  and  their  affairs  can  be  conducted 
on  proper  principles  without  her  valuable  assistance.  Your 
covsiii  would  be  charmed  to  know  that  you  made  her  the 
subject  of  conversation  among  yoiu'  acquaintance,  I  have  no 
doubt,  Charlie." 

"  But  she  is  not  his  coushi,"  said  Fanny. 

*•'  And  Harry,  dear,  you  are  unlcind  to  speak  of  us  as  mere 
acquaintancL'S  of  Mr.  I\Iillar.  Of  course,  he  would  not  speak 
of  her  everywhere  ;  and  you  must  permit  me  to  say  you  are 
a  little  unreasonable,  not  to  say  cross."  And  Rose  smiled  ver}' 
sweetly  on  him  as  she  spoke. 

Harry  did  look  cross,  and  Charlie  looked  astonished. 
Graeme  did  not  understand  it. 


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if 


472 


JANET  8   LOVE   AifD   SERVICE. 


m  ■ 


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till 


"Was  that  young  Roxbuiy  I  saw  you  driving  with  the 
other  day  ?  "  asked  Arthur.  "  lie  is  going  into  business,  I 
hear." 

"  It  was  he,"  said  Cliarhe.  "As  to  liis  going  into  business, 
I  cannot  say.  Ho  is  quite  young  yet.  He  is  not  of  age. 
Are  you  going,  HaiTy  ?     It  is  not  very  late  yet." 

They  did  not  go  immediately,  but  they  did  not  have  much 
pleasure  after  that.  Rose  was  very  hvely  and  amusing,  and 
tried  to  propitiate  Harry,  Graeme  thought,  but  she  was  not 
quite  sui"e  ;  there  were  a  good  many  allusions  to  events  and 
places  and  persons  that  she  did  not  miderstand,  and  nothing 
could  be  plainer  than  that  she  did  not  succeed.  Then  they 
had  some  music.  Rose  sat  at  the  piano  till  they  went  away, 
placing  pieces  long,  loud,  and  intricate  ;  and,  after  they  went 
away,  she  sat  down  again,  and  played  on  still. 

"  WTiat  put  Harry  out  of  sorts  to-night  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

"  Was  he  out  of  sorts  ?  "  asked  Graeme,  a  little  anxiously. 

Rose  laughed. 

"  I  shall  have  to  give  Harry  some  good  advice,"  said  she  ; 
and  that  was  the  last  word  she  said,  till  she  said  "good 
night." 

"There  is  something  wrong,"  said  Graeme  to  herself, 
"though  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is.  In  old  times, 
Rosie  would  have  burst  forth  with  it  all,  as  soon  as  we  came 
up  stairs.  But  it  is  nothing  that  can  trouble  her,  I  am  sure. 
I  hope  it  is  nothing  that  will  trouble  her.  I  will  not  fret 
about  it  before  hand.  We  do  not  know  our  troubles  from 
our  blessings  at  first  sight.  It  ought  not  to  be  less  easy  to 
trust  for  my  darling  than  for  myself.  But,  oh  !  Rosie,  I  am 
afiaid  I  have  been  at  my  old  folly,  dreaming  idle  dreans 


again. 


iijiPi' 


:li 


91  I 

III  I 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 


/^  TIAEIVIE  had  rejoiced  over  her  sister's  return,  "  hoaii- 
\J{~  tree  and  fancy-free,"  rather  more  than  was  reasonable, 
seeing  that  the  danger  to  her  freedom  of  heaii  and  fancy  was 
as  great  at  home  as  elsewhere,  and,  indeed,  inevitable  any- 
where, and,  under  certain  circumstances,  desfruble,  as  well. 
A  very  little  thmg  had  disturbed  her  sense  of  security  bef(3re 
many  weelts  were  over,  and  then,  amid  the  mingling  of  anxiety 
and  hope  which  followed,  she  could  not  but  fool  how  vain  and 
foolish  her  fooling  of  security  hiid  been.  It  was  the  look  that 
had  come  into  Charlie  Millar's  face  one  day,  as  his  eye  fell  sud- 
denly on  the  face  of  "Rose,  (iraeme's  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb 
of  pam  and  doubt,  as  she  saw  it,  for  it  told  her  that  a  change 
was  coming  over  their  quiet  hfe,  and  her  own  experience  made 
it  seem  to  her  a  change  to  be  cfreaded. 

There  had  been  a  gi'eat  snow-shoe  race  going  on  that  day, 
inwliich  they  were  all  supposed  to  be  much  interested,  because 
Master  Albert  Grove  was  one  of  the  ruimers,  and  had  good 
hope  of  winning  a  silver  medal  which  was  to  be  the  prize  of 
the  foremost  in  the  race.  Graeme  and  Rose  had  come  with  his 
little  sisters  to  look  on,  and  Rose  had  gi'own  as  eager  and 
dolightod  as  the  children,  and  stood  there  quite  luiconscious 
of  the  admiration  in  Charlie's  eyes,  and  of  the  shock  of  })ain 
that  thrilled  at  her  sister's  heart.  It  was  more  than  admira- 
tion that  Graeme  saw  in  his  eyes,  but  the  look  passed,  and  he 
made  no  movement  t'irough  the  crowd  toward  tlieni,  and 
everything  was  just  as  it  had  been  befcn-e,  excei)t  that  the 
thought  had  come  into  Graeme's  mind,  and  could  not  quite 
be  forgotten  again. 

After  that  the  time  still  went  quietly  on,  and  Charlie  came 
(473) 


I 


iM 


i-l 


■!:^^r 


«»  ''  i;; 


474 


JANET  H    LOM:   and   SERVICE. 


and  went,  and  was  wclconieil  as  before  ;  but  Graeme  lookin'^' 
on  liim  now  with  onlinliteiif'(l  eyes,  saw,  or  thought  she  saw, 
more  and  more  dearly  every  day,  the  secret  that  ho  did  not 
seem  in  haste  to  utter.  And  cveiy  day  she  saw  it  with  less 
pain,  and  waited,  at  last,  glad  and  woudeiing,  for  the  time 
when  the  lover's  word  sliould  change  her  sister's  shy  and 
Homewhat  stately  courtesy  into  a  fi'ank  accei^tancc  of  what 
could  not  but  be  precious,  Graeme  thought,  though  still  un- 
known or  miacknowlcdged.  And  then  the  mention  of  ^\jny 
Itoxbuiy's  name,  and  the  talk  that  followed,  startled  her  into 
the  knowledge  that  she  had  been  dreaming. 

"  Rose,"  said  she,  after  they  had  been  up  stairs  for  some 
time,  and  were  about  to  separate  for  the  night,  "  what  was 
the  matter  with  Harry  this  evening  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed  ?  "  said  Eoso,  laughuig.  "  He  was  quite 
out  of  sorts  about  sometliing." 

"  I  did  not  think  he  knew  the  Eoxbiuys.  He  certainly 
has  not  known  them  long,"  said  Graeme. 

"  No,  not  very  long — at  least,  not  jMiss  Amy,  who  has  only 
just  retmiied  home,  you  know.  But  I  think  she  was  not  at 
the  root  of  his  trouble;  at  least,  not  directly.  I  thmk  he  has 
found  out  a  slight  mistake  of  his,  with  regard  to  '  liis  friend 
and  partner.'    That  is  what  vexed  him,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean '? "  said  Graeme,  gravely. 
"  I  sliould  think  Harry  could  hardly  be  seriously  mistaken  in 
his  friend  by  this  tune,  and  certainly  I  should  not  feel  inclined 
to  laugh  at  him." 

"  Oh !  no.  Not  eerioushj  mistaken  ;  and  I  don't  think  he 
was  so  much  vexed  at  the  mistake,  as  tliat  I  should  know  it," 

"  I  don't  understand  yon,"  said  Graeme. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  Graeme.  It  will  all  come  out  right,  I 
daresay.  Harry  was  vexed  because  he  saw  that  I  was 
laughing  at  him,  and  it  is  just  as  well  that  he  should  be 
teased  a  little." 

"  Rose,  don't  go  yet.  What  is  there  between  you  and 
Harry  that  I  don't  know  about  ?  You  would  not  willingly 
make  me  unhappy,  Rose,  I  am  sui'e.     Tell  me  bow  you  have 


JANET  S    I.OVE    AND   SERVICE. 


175 


vexed  each  other,  dear.     I  noticed  it  to-night,  and  I  have 
several  times  noticed  it  before.     Tell  me  all  about  it,  Rose." 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  Graeme,  indeed.  I  was  very 
much  vexed  with  Hariy  once,  but  I  daresay  there  was  no 
need  for  it.  Graeme,  it  is  silly  to  rejDeat  it,"  added  Rose, 
reddening. 

"There  is  no  one  to  hear  but  me,  dear." 

"  It  was  all  nonsense.  Harry  took  it  hito  his  head  that  I 
had  not  treated  his  fiiend  well,  when  he  was  out  West,  at 
Norman's,  I  mean.  Of  course,  we  could  not  fall  into  home 
ways  during  his  short  visit  there  ;  everj-thing  was  so  differ- 
ent. But  I  was  not  '  high  and  mighty'  w  ith  him,  as  HaiTy 
declared  afterwards.  He  took  ine  to  task,  sharply,  and  ac- 
cused me  of  flirting,  and  I  don't  know  what  all,  as  though 
that  would  help  his  fiiend's  cause,  even  if  his  friend  had 
cared  about  it,  which  he  did  not.  It  a\  as  very  absurd.  I 
cannot  talk  about  it,  Graeme.  It  was  all  Hariy's  fancy. 
And  to-night,  when  Mr.  Millar  spoke  so  admiringly  of  Amy 
Roxbui'y,  Harry  was  n't  pleased,  because  ho  knew  I  remeni- 
bered  what  he  had  said,  and  he  knew  I  was  laughing  at  him. 
And  I  fancy  he  admires  the  pretty  httle  thing,  himself.  It 
would  be  gi'eat  fun  to  see  the  dear  fi  lends  turn  out  rivals, 
would  it  not  ?  "  said  Rose,  laughing. 

"  But  that  is  all  nonsense,  Rose." 

"  Of  course,  it  is  all  nonsense,  from  begining  to  end. 
That  is  just  what  I  think,  and  what  I  have  been  saying  to 
you.  So  don't  let  us  say  or  think  anything  more  about  it. 
Good-night." 

"  Good-night.  It  will  all  come  right,  I  daresay  ;"  and 
Graeme  put  it  out  of  her  thoughts,  as  Rose  had  bidden  her 
do. 

After  this,  Harry  was  away  for  a  while,  and  they  saw  less 
of  Mr.  INIillar,  because  of  his  absence,  Graeme  thought.  He 
must  have  more  to  do,  as  the  busy  time  of  the  coming  and 
gomg  of  the  ships  was  at  hand.  So  their  days  passed  very 
quietly,  with  only  common  pleasures  to  mark  tliciu,  but  they 
were  haj^py  days  for  all  that;  and  Graeme,  seeing  her  sister's 


lit 


m 


f: 


m 


>-'  •  ■  ■ ;  If 


Hf* 


X'  :•■ 


V 


iti 


476 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


half-veiled  pleasure  wlicn  Churlie  came,  and  only  half  con- 
Kcious  iiiipationce  \vlien  ho  stayed  away,  smiled  to  herself 
as  she  repeated,  "It  will  all  come  right." 

It  was  a  fair  April  day  ;  a  little  colder  than  April  days  are 
generally  supposed  to  be,  but  bright  and  still — just  the  day 
for  a  long  walk,  all  agreed  ;  and  Rose  went  up-stairs  to  pre- 
pare to  go  out.  singing  out  of  a  light  heart  as  she  went. 
Graeme  hastened  to  finish  something  that  she  had  in  her 
hand,  that  she  might  follow,  and  then  a  visitor  came,  and  before 
Rose  came  down  with  her  hat  on,  another  came  ;  and  the 
one  that  came  last,  and  stayed  longest,  was  their  old  friend, 
and  Ham's  aversion,  Mrs.  Gridley.  Rose  had  reconciled 
herself  to  the  loss  of  her  walk,  by  this  time,  and  hstened 
amused  to  the  various  subjects  discussed,  laying  up  an  item 
now  and  then,  for  Hand's  special  benefit.  There  was  variety, 
for  this  was  her  first  visit  for  a  long  time. 

After  a  good  many  interesting  excursions  among  the 
affairs  of  their  friends  and  neighbors,  she  brought  them  back 
in  her  pleasant  way  to  their  own. 

"  By  the  by,  is  it  true  that  young  Roxbmy  is  gomg  into 
business  with  Mr.  Millar  and  your  brother  ?  " 

**  We  have  not  been  infoimed  of  any  such  design,"  said 
Rose. 

"  Your  brother  is  away  just  now,  is  he  not  ?  ^Vill  he  re- 
turn ?  Young  men  who  have  done  business  elsewhere,  are 
rather  in  the  habit  of  calling  our  city  slow.  I  hope  your 
brother  Harry  does  not.  Is  yoimg  Roxbury  to  take  his  place 
in  the  fii*m,  or  are  all  three  to  be  together  ?  *' 

"  Hany  does  not  make  his  busmess  arrangements  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  very  often,"  said  Graeme,  gravely. 

"He  is  quite  right,"  said  IVIrs.  Gridley.  "  And  I  daresay, 
young  Roxbury  would  not  be  a  great  acquisition  to  the  firm, 
though  his  father's  money  might.  However,  some  of  that 
may  be  got  in  a  more  agreeable  way.  Mr.  Millar  is  doing 
his  best,  they  say.  But,  Amy  Roxbury  is  little  more  than  a 
diild.    Still  some  very  foohsh  marriages  seem  to  turn  out 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SICRVICE. 


477 


^  half  con- 
to  herself 

il  days  are 
ist  the  dtiy 
rs  to  pre- 
she  went, 
lad  in  her 
and  before 
;  and  the 
old  friend, 
reconciled 
d  hstened 
Lip  an  item 
as  variety, 

,niong  the 
them  back 


jomg  into 


sign,"  said 

Till  he  re- 
where,  are 
lope  your 
e  his  place 

is  the  sub- 
tly. 
I  daresay, 

the  firm, 
ne  of  that 
'  is  doing 
)re  than  a 

turn  out 


very  well.     Am  I  not  to  scq  INIrs.  Elliott,  to-day  ?     She  is  a 
veiy  devoted  mother,  it  seems." 

"  She  would  have  been  happy  to  see  you,  if  she  had  been 
at  home." 

"  And  she  is  quite  well  again  ?  What  a  relief  it  must  bo 
to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gridley,  amiably.  "And  you  are  all 
quite  happy  together !  I  thought  you  were  going  to  stay  at 
the  West,  Eose?" 

"I  could  not  bo  spared  any  longer;  they  could  not  do  with- 
out me." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  keep  house  for  Harry,  at  Elphin- 
stone  house,  or  is  Mr.  Millar  to  have  that '? " 

And  so  on,  till  she  was  tu'ed,  at  last,  and  went  away. 

"  What  nonsense  that  woman  talks,  to  be  sure !  "  said  Rose. 

'Worse  than  nonsense,  I  am  afraid,  sometimes,"  said 
Graeme.  "  Really,  Han-y's  ten'or  of  her  is  not  sm'prising. 
Nobody  seems  safe  from  her  tongue." 

"But  don't  let  us  lose  our  walk,  altogether.  We  have 
time  to  go  round  the  square,  at  any  rate.  It  is  not  late," 
said  Rose. 

They  went  out,  leaving,  or  seeming  to  leave,  all  thought  of 
Mrs.  Gridley  and  her  news  behind  them.  They  met  Fann}' 
returning  home,  before  they  had  gone  far  down  the  street. 

"Come  with  us,  Famiy.  Baby  is  all  right.  Are  you 
tired  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired.  But  is  it  not  ahnost  dinner  time  ? 
Suppose  we  go  and  meet  Arthur." 

'*  Well — only  there  is  a  chance  of  missing  him  ;  and  it  is 
much  nicer  up  toward  S.  street.  However,  we  can  go  home 
that  way.  There  will  be  time  enough.  How  delightful  the 
fresh  air  is,  after  a  whole  day  in  the  house  !  " 

"  And  after  Mrs.  Gridley,"  said  Graeme,  laughing. 

"Have  3'ouliad  Mrs.  Gridley?"  said  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  and  columns  of  news,  but  it  will  keep.  Is  it  net  nice 
to  be  out  1  I  would  like  to  borrow  that  child's  skipping  rope, 
and  go  up  the  street  as  she  does." 


I  if 


478 


JANET  ti    LOVE    AND    SKRVICE. 


h 


ll' 


0 


Fanny  laughed.  "  Would  n't  all  the  people  be  amazed  ? 
Tell  mo  what  news  ^Ir.s.  Giidley  gave  you." 

Hose  went  over  a  great  many  items,  very  fast,  and  very 
merrily. 

"  iVll  that,  and  more  besides,  which  Graeme  will  give  you, 
if  you  are  not  satisfied.  There  is  your  husband,  i  nope  he 
may  be  glad  to  see  us  all." 

"  If  he  is  not,  he  can  go  home  by  himself." 

Arthur  professed  himself  dolightcd,  but  suggested  the  pro- 
priety of  their  coming  one  at  a  time,  after  that,  so  that  the 
pleasure  might  last  hmgor. 

"Very  Avell,  one  at  a  time  be  it,"  said  Rose.  "Come, 
Fanny,  he  thinks  it  possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  Let  him  have  Graeme,  to-night,  and  we  will  take  caro 
of  ourselves." 

They  went  away  together,  and  Arthur  and  Graeme  follow- 
ed, and  so  it  happonel  tint  Graeme  had  lost  sight  of  her  sister, 
when  she  saw  something  that  brought  some  of  Mrs.  Grid- 
ley's  words  unpleasantly  to  her  mind.  They  had  turnctl  into 
S.  street,  which  was  giy  with  c.ii*riagos,  and  with  people  rid- 
ing and  walking,  and  the  others  were  at  a  dist.'uice  before 
them  under  the  trees,  when  Arthur  spoke  to  some  one,  and 
looking  up,  she  saw  ^liss  Roxbui-y,  on  horseback,  and  at  her 
side  rode  IMi*.  Millar.  She  was  startled,  so  startled  that  she 
quite  forgot  to  return  ]\Iiss  Roxbury's  bow  and  smile,  and  had 
gone  a  good  way  down  the  street  before  she  noticed  that  her 
brother  was  speaking  to  her.  He  was  saying  something 
ftbout  the  possible  admission  of  young  Rc^xbmy  into  the  new 
firm,  apropos  of  the  encounter  of  Mr.  ^Millar  and  Amy. 

"  HaiTy  is  very  close  about  his  afiau's,  said  Graeme,  \\ith 
a  little  vexation.  "  ISIi's.  Gridley  gave  us  that  among  other 
pieces  of  news,  to-day.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  did  not  deny  it, 
decidedly.  It:  is  rather  a\\kward  when  all  the  town  knows 
of  our  affairs,  before  we  know  them  ourselves." 

"Awkward,  indeed!"  said  Arthur,  laughing.  "But  then 
this  partnership  is  hardly  our  affair,  and  Mrs.  Gridley  is  not 


JANKT  t^  Lovi;  AM)  >r.uvici:. 


471) 


.!  i  ■• 


all  the  towT.,  tliouf:,'h  sho  is  not  to  be  lii^litlil'uMl,  v/licn'  ihc 
spreailinf,' of  ncNVH  i.s  concoi'iicd  ;  and  slio  tells  thiii;^s  hi-foro 
thoy  happen,  it  sooms,  for  this  is  not  scttk'il,  yet,  and  may 
never  bo.     It  would  do  well  for  some  thin;;^s." 

But  Gruenio  could  not  listen  to  this,  ortv>  anything'  else,  just 
then.  She  was  wondering  whether  lloso  had  seen  ('haries 
Millar  and  Miss  Roxbury,  and  hopinfj  sho  had  not.  And 
then  she  considered  a  moment  whether  she  mij^dit  not  ask 
Artlnu'  to  say  nothiiif,''  al)out  meeting  them  ;  but  she  could 
not  do  it  without  making  it  seem  to  herself  that  she  was  be- 
traying her  sister.  And  yet,  how  foolish  such  a  thought  was; 
for  Rose  had  nothing  to  betray,  sho  said,  a  little  anxiously, 
to  herself.  Sho  repeated  it  more  lirmly,  however,  when  tlu^y 
came  to  the  corner  of  the  street  where  Fanny  ai.;i  Rose  wta'o 
waiting  for  them,  and  laughing  an.d  talking  merrily  together. 
If  Roso  felt  any  vexation,  sho  hid  it  well.  . 

"I  will  ask  Fanny  whom  they  met.  No,  I  will  not."  ;  aid 
Graeme,  to  herself,  again.  "  A\'hy  should  Rose  cmvc  It  is 
only  I  who  nave  been  foolish.  They  have  kno\.n  each  other 
so  !-^ng,  it  would  have  happened  long  ago,  if  it  had  been  to 
happen.  It  would  have  been,  verj'  nice  for  some  things. 
And  it  might  have  been,  if  Rose  had  cared  for  him.  Ho 
cared  for  her,  I  am  quite  sure.  Who  Avould  not  ?  But  sho 
does  not  care  for  him.  I  hope  she  docs  not  care  for  him. 
Oh !  I  could  not  go  through  all  that  again !  Oh,  my  dai-hng, 
my  darhng ! " 

It  was  growing  dark,  happily,  or  her  face  might  have  be- 
trayed what  Graeme  was  thmking.  She  started  a  little  when 
her  sister  said, 

"  Graeme,  do  j'ou  flunk  it  would  be  extravagant  in  me  to 
wish  for  a  new  velvet  jacket  ?  " 

"  Not  vciy  extravagant  just  to  wish  for  one,"  said  Graeme, 
dubiously.     Rose  laughed. 

"I  might  as  well  wish  for  a  gown,  too,  while  I  am  wishing, 
I  suppose,  you  think.  No,  but  I  do  admire  those  httle 
jackets  so  much.     I  might  cut  over  my  winter  one,  but  it 


H: 


U 


'[  ii 


480 


Janet's  lovp:  and  service. 


m 


hL 

mi. 

ffilfll' 

I^M: 

^ 

B'^'''ffl 

■  "i4,^9 

Pff 

'  *  fw 

i# 

• 

Ml 

ii  ^ 

1 

1  ''  ' 

f 

i 

ii' 

m 

m 

1 

!e 

k% 

IIE 

c 

1 

BU 

I 

i 

1 

iij' 

if  If    1 

1 

li' 

K  1 

J 

I' 

would  be  a  waste  of  material,  and  something  lighter  and  less 
expensive  would  do.  It  would  n't  take  mueli,  they  are  worn 
so  small.     "\Vh;^t  do  you  think  about  it,  Graeme?" 

"If  you  can  afford  it.     They  are  very  pretty,  certainly." 
"  Yes,  are  they  not  ?    But,  after  all,  I  daresay  I  am  foolish 
to  wish  for  one." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  if  you  have  set  your  heart  on  one,  I 
daresay  we  can  manage  it  between  us." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  setting  my  heart  on  it,  I  can't  quite  say  that. 
It  is  not  wise  to  set  one's  heart  on  what  one  is  not  sure  of 
getting — or  on  things  that  perish  with  the  using — which  is 
emphatically  tme  of  jackets.  This  one  has  faded  a  great 
deal  more  than  it  ought  to  have  done,  considermg  the  cost," 
added  she,  looking  gi'avely  down  at  her  sleeve. 
There  was  no  time  for  more. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Famiy,  as  the}^  all  came  up  to  tho 
door.  "How  pleasant  it  has  been,  and  how  much  longer 
the  days  are  getting.  We  will  all  come  to  meet  you  again, 
dear.     I  only  hope  baby  has  been  good." 

"  She  did  not  see  them,"  said  Graeme,  to  herself,  "  or  she 
does  not  care.  If  she  had  seen  them  she  woiild  have  said 
so,  of  course,  unless — .  I  will  watch  her.  I  shall  see  if  there 
is  any  difference.  But  she  cannot  hide  it  fi'om  me,  if  she  is 
vexed  or  troubled.    I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

If  there  was  one  among  them  that  night  more  silent  than 
usual,  or  less  cheerful,  it  certainlj'^  was  not  Rose.  She  was 
just  what  she  alwaj's  was.  She  was  not  hvely  and  talkative, 
as  though  she  had  anj'thing  to  hide  ;  nor  did  she  go  to  the 
jiiano,  and  play  on  constantly  and  noisily,  as  she  sometimes 
did  when  she  was  vexed  or  impatient.  She  was  ju.st  as  usual. 
She  came  into  Graeme's  room  and  sat  down  for  a  few 
minutes  of  quiet,  just  as  she  usually  did.  She  did  not  stay 
very  long,  but  she  did  not  hurry  away  as  though  she  wished 
to  be  alone,  and  her  mind  was  full  of  the  velvet  jacket  still, 
it  seemed,  though  she  did  not  speak  quite  so  eagerly  about  it 
as  she  had  done  at  first.  Still  it  was  an  important  matter, 
beyond  all  other  matters  for  the  time,  and  when  she  went 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SERVICE, 


481 


and  less 
arc  worn 

ainly." 
,in  foolisli 

on  one,  I 

s  say  that. 
)t  sure  of 
-wliicli  is 
d  a  great 
the  cost," 


up  to  tho 
ich  longer 
you  agam, 


If, 


or  she 

have  said 

see  if  there 

e,  if  she  is 

silent  than 
She  was 

d  talkative, 

o-o  to  the 

sometimes 

st  as  usual. 

for  a  few 

lid  not  stay 
she  wished 
jacket  still, 

)rly  aboiit  it 

|ant  matter, 
m  she  went 


away  she  laughingly  confessed  that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  care  so  much  about  so  small  a  matter,  and  Ijeggcd  her 
sister  not  to  think  her  altogether  vain  and  foolish.  And  then 
Graeme  said  to  herself,  again,  tb*it  Rose  did  not  care,  she  was 
quite  sure,  and  very  glad  and  thankful. 

Glad  and  thankful !  Yet,  Graeme  watched  her  sister  next 
day,  and  for  many  days,  with  eyes  which  even  Fanny  could 
see  were  wistful  aiid  anxious.  Hose  did  not  see  it,  or  she 
did  not  say  so.  She  was  not  sad  in  the  least  degree,  j-ct  not 
too  cheerful.  She  was  just  as  usual,  Graeme  assm'od  herself 
many  times,  when  anxious  thoughts  would  come ;  and  so  she 
was,  as  far  as  any  one  could  see. 

"When  Mr.  Millar  called  the  first  time  after  the  night  when 
Graeme  had  met  him  with  Miss  Rosburv,  Rose  was  not  at 
home.  He  had  seen  her  going  into  the  house  next  door,  as 
he  was  coming  up  the  street,  he  told  Mrs.  EDiott,  when  she 
wondered  what  had  become  of  her.  She  did  not  come  in  till 
late.  She  had  been  beguiled  into  playing  and  singing  any 
number  of  duets  and  trios  with  the  young  Gilberts,  she  sai(  I, 
and  she  had  got  a  new  song  that  would  just  suit  Famiy's 
voice,  and  Fanny  must  come  and  try  it.  And  then  she 
apj)caled  to  Ai'thur,  whether  it  was  a  proper  thing  for  his 
wife  to  give  up  all  her  music  except  nursery  rhymes,  and 
carried  her  in  triumph  to  the  piano,  where  thej'  amu'  ('d 
themselves  till  baby  wanted  mamma.  She  was  just  r.s 
friendly  as  usual  with  ]Mi\  Millar  during  the  short  time  lie 
staid  after  that — rather  more  so,  perhaps,  for  she  reminded 
him  of  a  book  which  he  had  promised  to  brmg  and  had  for- 
gotten. He  brought  it  the  very  next  night,  but  Ros(\  un- 
happily, had  toothache,  and  could  not  come  <lown.  She  was 
not  "making  believe,"  Graeme  assured  herself,  when  she 
went  up  stairs,  for  her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  hands  were 
hot,  and  she  paid  a  visit  to  the  dentist  next  morning.  In  a 
day  or  two  Harry  came  home,  and  IMr.  Millar  came  and  went 
with  him  as  usual,  and  was  very  quiet  and  grave,  as  had  come 
to  be  liis  way  of  late,  and  to  all  appearance  everything  went 
on  as  beftu'c. 

21 


m  i 


fwr' 


^li 


si 


482 


JANKT  S    LOVI-:    AND    SKKVICE. 


!>■,  i 


il 


"Graeme,"  said  I'aniiy,  confidentially,  one  niglit  when  all  but 
Rose  were  sitting  together,  "I  sa^\■  the  jirrflir-f  velvet  jacket 
to<lay ! .  It  was  trimmed  in  (juite  a  new  style,  quite  simjJy, 
too.     I  asked  the  priee." 

"  And  were  astonished  at  its  cheapness,"  said  Ham*. 

"  For  baby,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Arthur. 

*'  For  baby !  A  velvet  jacket !  "NVhat  are  you  thinking  of, 
Ai'tlnu' V "  said  Fanny,  answering  her  husband  first.  "No, 
Harry,  I  was  not  astonished  at  the  cheapness.  But  it  was  a 
beauty,  and  not  veiy  dear,  considering." 

"  And  it  is  for  baby's  mamma,  then,"  said  Arthur,  making 
beheve  to  take  out  his  pocket  book.     Fanny  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  any  immber  of  jackets,"  said  she. 

"  But,  then,  j'ou  have  worn  them  any  numljer  of  times," 
said  Hany. 

"They  arc  as  good  aFJ  nc^vv,  but  eld  fasiiioned?  Eh, 
Fanny  ?  "  said  her  husband. 

"  Three  weeks  behind  the  latest  style,"  said  HaiTv. 

*•  Nonsense,  Arthur!  What  do  you  know  about  jackets, 
Harry  ?  But,  Graeme,  Rosie  ought  to  have  it.  You  know 
she  wants  one  so  much." 

"She  spoke  about  it,  I  know  ;  but  I  don't  think  she 
really  cares  for  one.  At  any  rate,  she  has  made  up  her 
mmd  to  do  without  one." 

"  Of  com'se,  it  would  be  foolish  to  care  about  what  she 
could  not  got,"  said  Fanny,  wisely.  "  But  she  would  like  it, 
all  the  same,  I  am  siu'e." 

The  velvet  jacket  had  been  discussed  between  these  two 
with  much  interest ;  but  Rose  had  given  up  all  thought  of 
it  with  great  apparent  reluctance,  and  nothing  had  Ixicn 
said  about  it  for  some  days.  Judging  from  what  her  o\vn 
feelings  would  have  been  in  similar  circumstances,  Fanny 
doubted  the  sincerity  of  Rose's  resignation. 

"I  beUeve  it  is  that  which  has  been  vexing  her  lately, 
though  she  says  nothing,"  contiiiued  she. 

"  Vexing  her,"  repeated  Graeme.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Fanny  ?    What  have  you  seen  ?  " 


JANET  S    LOVE    AXD    SEUVICE. 


483 


a  all  but 
;t  jacket 
;  simi)ly, 

ry- 

liking  of, 

t.     '^  No, 

it  was  a 

■,  making 
bcr  head. 

j{  times," 

2(1?       Eh, 

•y. 

lit  jackets, 

ion  know 

Lhiiik   she 
Ic  up  her 

what  she 
lid  like  it, 

thersc  two 
lought  of 
had  l>ecn 
t  her  own 
c«,  Fanny 

ber  hitcly, 

voii  mean, 


**0h!  I  ha\G  seen  nothing  that  you  have  not  seen  as  well. 
But  I  know  1  should  bo  vexed  if  I  wanted  a  velvet  jacket, 
and  could  noL  get  it ;  at  least.  I  should  Lave  been  when  I 
was  a  young  gui  hkc  Rose,"  added  Fanny,  with  the  gentle 
tolerance  of  a  young  matron,  who  has  seen  the  folly  of  girlish 
wishes,  but  docs  not  care  to  bo  hard  on  them.  The  others 
laughed. 

"  And  even  later  than  that — till  baby  came  to  bring  you 
wisdom,"  said  her  husband. 

"  And  it  would  be  nice  if  Rosic  could  have  it  before  the 
Convocation,"  continued  Fanny,  not  heeding  him.  "It 
would  just  bo  the  thing  with  her  new  hat  and  gray  poplin." 

"Yes,"  said  (traeme,  *"but  I  don't  think  Rosic  would  enjoy 
it  unless  she  felt  that  she  could  quite  well  aflbrd  it.  I  don't 
really  think  she  cares  about  it  much." 

"  I  know  what  you  iiieau,  Graeme.  She  would  not  hkc  me 
to  interfere  about  it,  you  think.  But  if  Arlhur  or  Harry 
would  have  the  sense  to  make  her  a  present  of  it,  just  be- 
cause it  is  prett}'  and  fashionable,  and  not  because  she  is  sui> 
posed  to  war.t  it,  and  without  any  hint  from  you  or  me,  that 
would  be  nice." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Fanny,  you  are  growing  as  wise  as  your 
mamma,"  said  Harry.     "A  regular  manager." 

Fanny  pouted  a  little,  for  she  knew  that  her  mamma's 
wisdom  and  management  were  not  admired.  Graeme  hast- 
ened to  interfere. 

"  It  is  ver}^  nice  of  you  to  care  so  nmch  about  it,  Fanny. 
You  know  Rose  is  very  determined  to  make  her  means  cover 
her  expenses  ;  but  still  if,  as  you  say,  Harry  should  suddenly 
be  smitten  with  admiration  for  the  jacket,  and  present  it  to 
her,  perhaps  it  might  do.  I  am  not  sure,  however.  I  have 
my  misgivings." 

And  not  without  reason.  Rose  had  an  allowance,  liberal 
enough,  but  not  too  hl)oral ;  not  so  liberal  but  tliat  taste, 
and  skill,  and  care  were  needed,  to  enable  her  to  look  as 
nice  as  she  liked  to  look.  But  more  tlian  once  she  had 
failed  to  express,  or  to  feel  gratitude  to  Fanny,  in  her  attemijts 


l<  '■ 


4R4 


JAXET  fi    I.OVK    AM)   SKKVICE. 


'!!  f 


to  Tiiako  it  Oiisicr  for  her,  either  bv  an  appeal  to  her  brothers, 
or  by  drawing  on  licr  own  moans.  Even  from  Graeme,  she 
would  only  acce[)t  temporary  assistance,  and»  rather  prided 
herself  on  the  little  shifts  and  contrivances  by  which  she 
made  her  own  means  g;o  to  the  utmost  hmit. 

But  there  was  no  difTiculty  this  time.  It  all  happened 
naturally  enough,  and  Rose  thanked  Harry  with  more 
warmth  than  was  nec^csssary,  in  his  opinion,  or,  indeed,  in  the 
opinion  of  Graeme. 

"I  saw  one  on  IMiss  Roxbury,"  said  Harry,  "or,  I  ought  to 
say,  I  saw  Miss  Roxbuiy  wearing  one  ;  and  I  thought  it  look- 
ed very  well,  and  so  did  Charlie." 

"  Oh !"  Kaid  Rose,  with  a  long  breath.  "  But  then  you 
know  Harry,  dear,  that  I  cannot  pretend  to  such  stylo  as 
]\Iiss  Roxburj .  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  in  my 
jacket," 

"  You  want  me  to  compliment  you,  Rosie.  You  know  you 
are  a  great  deal  prettier  than  little  Amy  Roxbury.  Bnt  she 
is  very  sweet  and  good,  if  you  would  only  take  pams  to  know 
her.     You  would  win  her  heart  directly,  if  you  were  to  try." 

"  But  then  I  should  not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  if  I  were 
to  win  it,  unless  I  were  to  give  it  away.  And  heai*ts  are  of 
no  value  when  given  by  a  third  person,  as  nobody  should 
know  better  than  yon,  Hany,  dear.  But  I  shall  do  honor  to 
your  taste  all  the  same  ;  and  twenty  more  good  brothers 
shall  present  jackets  to  grateful  sisters,  seeing  how  well  I  look 
in  mine.     It  is  very  nice,  and  I  thank  you,  very  much." 

But  she  did  not  look  as  though  she  enjoyed  it  very  much, 
Graeme  could  not  help  thinking. 

"  Of  course,  she  did  not  really  care  much  to  have  it.  She 
does  not  need  to  make  herself  fine.  I  daresay  she  will  en- 
joy wearing  it,  however.  It  is  well  she  can  enjoy  something 
else  besides  finery." 

They  all  went  to  the  Convocation,  and  Rose  wore  her  new 

jacket,  and  her  gi-ey  jwplin,  and  looked  beautiful,  the  rest 

thought.     The  ladies  went  early  with  Arthur,  but  he  was 

called  away,  and  it  was  a  little  tedious  wailiii^'-,  or  it  would 


JANKT  8    LOVK   AND   SERVICE. 


4sn 


L-othcra, 

mc,  slie 

prided 

ich  slio 

appcned 
\i  more 
id,  intlio 

ought  to 
it  it  look- 

;licn  you 

stylo  as 

ted  in  my 

know  you 
Bnt  she 
IS  to  know 
I'o  to  try." 
if  I  were 
rts  are  of 
»dy  should 
y  honor  to 
brothers 
well  I  look 
ich." 
cry  much, 

ro  it.     She 
}he  wiU  en- 
something 

L-e  her  new 
ul,  the  rest 
)ut  he  waa 
or  it  would 


have  been,  only  it  was  very  amusing  to  see  ho  many  peoi:)lo 
coming  in,  all  dressed  in  tlieii*  new  spring  jittm\  Faiiny  en- 
joyed this  part  of  the  affair,  Vv^ry  much,  and  Hose  said  she 
enjoyed  it,  too,  quite  as  much  as  any  part  of  the  affair  ;  and, 
by  and  by,  Fuimy  whispered  that  there  was  Harry,  with  Miss 
Roxbury. 

"  I  thought  Harry  was  not  coming,"  said  she. 

"  I  suppose,  ho  was  able  to  get  away  after  all,"  said  Graeme, 
and  she  looked  round  for  Mr.  IMillar.  Ho  was  not  to  be 
seen,  but  by  and  by  Harry  came  round  to  them,  to  say  that 
there  were  several  seats  much  bettor  than  theirs,  that  had 
been  reserved  for  the  Roxbury  party,  because  Mr.  Roxbury 
had  something  to  do  with  the  College,  and  ]Mrs.  Roxliury 
wanted  them  to  come  round  and  take  them,  before  they  were 
filled. 

"Oh!  how  charming!"  said  Rose.  "If  we  only  could. 
We  should  be  quite  among  the  great  people,  then,  which  is 
what  I  delight  in." 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  coming,  Harry,"  said  Graeme. 

"  I  was  afraid  I  could  not  get  away,  but  I  made  out  to  do 
so.  —  No,  not  at  Charlie's  expense.  There  he  is  now,  speak- 
ing to  IMrs.  Roxbuiy,  and  looking  about  for  us,  I  daresay." 

"Well,  Fanny,  you  go  on  with  Harry,  and  Graeme  and  I 
will  follow,"  said  Rose.  "It  would  not  do  to  separate,  I  sup- 
pose? Are  you  sure  there  is  room  for  all,  Harry?" 

"  Quito  sure.     No  fear  ;  wo  will  make  room." 

So  HaiTy  gave  his  arm  to  Fanny,  and  Graeme  rose  to  fol- 
low them,  though  she  would  much  rather  have  staid  where 
she  wafj.  When  she  reached  the  other  end  of  the  long  hall, 
she  turned  to  look  for  her  sister,  but  Rose  had  not  moved. 
She  could  not  catch  her  eye,  for  her  attention  was  occupied 
by  some  one  who  had  t^ken  the  seat  beside  her.  and  Graeme 
could  not  linger  without  losing  sight  of  Harry  and  Fanny. 
for  the  people  were  crowding  up,  now,  and  only  the  seats  set 
apart  for  the  students  were  left  vacant.  So  she  was  obliged 
to  hasten  on. 

I  will  send  Harry  back  for  her,"  said  Graeme,  to  herself. 


(( 


m 


486 


.TAXr.Tfl   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


"  Or,  perhaps,  when  Arthur  returns,  she  will  cross  the  htiU 
witli  Lim.  AVo  have  made  a  very  foolish  move  for  all  con- 
coruod,  I  think.  But  Rosie  secmecl  to  like  the  idea,  and  I 
did  not  care.  I  only  hope  we  arc  not  separated  for  the  whole 
allair." 

But  separated  for  the  whole  affair  they  Avere.  Arthur  re- 
turned, but  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  get  through  the  crowd 
to  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  wife  and  sisters,  and  when 
he  reached  it,  he  saw  that  it  would  not  be  easy  to  get  away 
again.  So  as  he  could  see  and  hear  very  well  where  he  was, 
and  as  Rose  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  her  place,  and  with 
the  companionship  of  her  little  friend,  Miss  Etta  Goldsmith, 
he  contented  himseK  where  he  was. 

Miss  Goldsmith  had  come  to  town  to  see  her  brother  take 
his  diploma  as  doctor  of  medicine,  and  she  was  in  a  fever 
of  anxiety  till  "  dear  Dick,"  had  got  his  precious  bit  of  parch- 
ment in  his  hands.  And  after  that,  till  he  had  performed  his 
duty  as  orator  of  his  class,  and  had  bidden  farewell  to  each  and 
all,  in  English  so  flowing  and  flowery,  that  she  was  amazed,  as 
well  as  delighted,  and  very  gi'atcf  iil  to  his  classmates  for  the  ap- 
plause, which  they  did  not  spare.  Rose  sat  beside  the  eager 
little  girl,  so  grave  and  pale,  by  contrast,  perhaps,  that  Arthur 
leaned  over,  and  asked  her  if  she  were  ill,  or  only  very  tired 
of  it  all.     Then  she  brightened. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  more  of  it,  is  there  not  ?  I  must 
not  be  tired  yet.  Why  don't  you  find  your  way  over  to  Fanny 
and  Graeme  ?  " 

"  Where  are  they  ?  Ah !  yes,  I  see  them  over  there  among 
the  great  folks — and  Harry,  too,  no  less,  and  his  fi-iend  and 
partner.  And  that  bonny  httlo  Amy  is  not  far  away,  I  '11 
ventui'e  to  say.  No.  I  shall  stay  where  I  am  for  the 
present."  * 

Miss  Goldsmith  did  not  feel  bound  to  be  specially  inter- 
ested in  anybody  or  anything,  except  her  big  brother  and  his 
bit  of  parchment.  And  so,  when  he  had  given  her  a  nod  and 
a  smile,  as  he  came  do\Mi  fi'om  the  dais,  crumpling  his  papers 
in  his  big  hands,  she  was  ready  to  look  about  and  enjoy  her- 


JANETS    I.ovi:    AND   SERVICE. 


48^ 


tho  htiU 
all  con- 
!a,  and  I 

lie  whole 

rthur  rc- 
le  crowd 
Qd  when 
jet  away 
!  he  was, 
md  with 
•Idsmith, 

her  take 
I  a  fever 
of  parch- 
rmed  his 
each  and 
lazed,  as 
)r  the  a]> 
he  eager 
t  Arthur 
ry  tJred 

I  must 
|o  Fanny 

among 
lend  and 
lav,  I'll 

I  for  the 

ly  inter- 
land  his 
lod  and 
papers 
Ijoy  her- 


self.    And  to  the  unaccustomed  eyes  of  the  country  girl, 
there  -waH  a  great  deal  worth  seeing. 

"  How  beautifully  the  ladies  are  dressed !  How  pretty  tho 
spring  fashions  are  !  I  feel  like  an  old  dowdy !  "Who  is  that 
lady  in  blue  ?  AMiat  a  love  of  a  hat !  And  youi*  jacket !  It 
is  a  beauty !  " 

It  was  through  such  a  running  fire  of  questions  and  excla- 
mations that  Rose  listened  to  all  that  was  going  on.  There  wa.'L- 
a  good  deal  more  to  be  said,  for  the  law  students  were  ad- 
di'cssed  by  a  gentleman,  whose  boast  it  seemed  to  be,  that  he 
had  once  been  a  law  student  himself.  Then  they  had  some 
Latm  muttered  over  them,  and  their  heads  tapped  by  the 
Principal,  and  some  one  else  gave  them  then*  bits  of  parch- 
ment, and  then  thck  orator  spoke  their  farewell  m  flowing 
and  flowery  EngUsh.  And  "  will  it  eyer  be  done  ?  "  thought 
Rose,  with  a  sigh. 

It  was  not  "just  the  thing,"  all  this  discMssion  of  hats  and 
fashions  ;  but  little  Miss  Goldsmith  spoke  very  softly,  and  dis- 
tm'bed  no  one,  breathed  her  questions  almost,  and  Rose 
answered  as  silently,  with  a  nod,  or  a  smile,  or  a  tm'n  of  the 
eye ;  and,  at  any  rate,  they  ^-scre  not  the  only  people  who 
were  thus  taldng  refuge  from  the  dullness  of  the  Dean,  and 
the  prosing  of  the  Chancellor,  Rose  thought  to  hers.elf,  as  she 
glance<l  about.  iVrthur  whispered  that  the  Chancellor  sur- 
passed himself  on  the  occasion,  and  that  even  the  Dean  was 
not  very  j^rosy,  and  Rose  did  not  dissent,  but  she  looked  as 
if  it  was  all  a  wcarmess  to  her.  She  brightened  a  httle  when 
it  wcts  all  over,  and  they  rose  to  go. 

"Go  and  find  Fami}'  and  Graeme,''  said  she  to  her  brother. 
"  Dr.  Goldsmith  will  take  care  of  his  sister  and  me." 

Dr.  Goldsmith  was  nothing  loth,  and  Rose  was  so  engaged 
in  offering  her  congi'atulations,  and  in  listening  to  his  repHes, 
and  in  responding  to  tho  greetings  of  her  many  friends  as  she 
came  down  mto  the  hall,  that  she  did  not  notice  that  Graeme 
and  Mr.  IMillar  Avero  waiting  for  her  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
There  was  a  little  delay  at  the  uter  door,  where  tliere  were 
many  can'iages  waiting.     The  Roxbury  caniage  was  among 


\ 


:^i 


'  ■  I 


m 

t 

1 

!                  :     ' 

w9 

; 

M 

V. 

1 

1 

It 

1 

'1            '^ 

1 

1        ^ 

II  l> 


488 


JANET  8   LOVE  AND  SERVICE. 


the  rest,  and  Miss  Eoxbui*y  was  eittinj,'  in  it,  though  Eoso 
coiUtl  not  help  thinking  she  looked  as  though  she  Avoiild  nnich 
rather  have  walked  on  with  the  rest,  as  Harry  was  so  bold 
as  to  propose.  They  were  waiting  for  ]Mr.  Roxbiuy,  it 
seemed,  and  our  party  lingered  over  thcii*  last  words. 

"  I  will  walk  on  with  the  Goldsmiths.  I  have  sometliing 
to  say  to  Etta,"  said  Eose,  and  before  Graeme  could  expostu- 
late, or,  indeed,  answer  at  all,  she  was  gone.  The  can-iage 
passed  them,  and  Miss  Koxbury  leaned  forward  and  bowed 
and  smiled,  and  charmed  Miss  Goldsmith  with  her  pretty 
manner  and  perfect  hat.  In  a  httlc,  Harry  overtook  them. 
Eoso  presented  him  to  IMiss  Goldsmith,  and  walked  on  with 
the  Doctor.  At  the  gate  of  the  college  grounds,  their  ways 
separated. 

"Mr.  ElMott,"  said  IVIiss  Goldsmith,  "yoiu'  sister  has  al- 
most promised  to  come  and  visit  us  when  I  go  home.  I  do 
so  want  papa  and  mamma  to  see  her.  Brother  Dick  goes 
home  to-morrow,  but  I  am  going  to  stay  a  day  or  two,  and 
then  I  want  Eose  to  go  with  me.  Do  try  and  persuade  ]Miss 
EUiott  to  let  her  go." 

Harry  promised,  with  more  politeness  than  sincerity,  say- 
ing he  had  no  doubt  Graeme  would  be  happy  to  give  Eose 
the  pleasm'e,  and  then  they  got  away. 

"  Papa,  and  mamma,  and  brother  Dick.  I  declare  it  looks 
serious.  Wliat  are  you  meditating,  now,  Eosie,  if  I  may 
ask  ?  ■•' 

"  My  dear  Harry,  if  you  think  by  chaff  to  escape  the  scold- 
ing you  know  you  deserve,  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken. 
The  idea  of  your  taking  Graeme  and  Fanny  away,  and  leaving 
iiic  there  by  myself !  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done 
if  Arthur  had  not  come  back.  To  be  sure  I  had  Etta  Gold- 
smith, who  is  a  dear  little  thing.  I  don't  thinlc  her  big  bro- 
ther is  so  very  ugly  if  he  had  n't  red  hau\  And  he  must  be 
clever,  or  he  would  not  have  been  permitted  to  make  that 
speech.  His  papa  and  mamma  must  be  dehghted.  But  it 
was 


shabby  of  you,  Harry,  to  go  and  leave  me  alone 
■was  it  not,  Arthur  ?  " 


very 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


489 


igli  Roso 
iild  much 
3  so  bold 
xbm-y,  it 
s. 

iometliing 
1  expostu- 
)  carriage 
nd  bowed 
ler  pretty 
3ok  them, 
d  on  with 
their  ways 

:cr  has  al- 
me.  I  do 
Dick  goes 
•r  two,  and 
suade  IVIiss 

ierity,  say- 
ffive  Rose 

ire  it  looks 
if  I  may 

the  scold- 
mistaken. 
Lnd  leaving 
I  have  done 
Etta  Gold- 
br  big  bro- 
le  must  be 
Imake  that 
But  it 
le  alone ; 


"  But,  you  might  have  come,  too,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  thought 
you  were  following  us." 

"  And  so  did  I,"  said  Graeme. 

"  Well,  dear  little  Etta  Goldsmith  pounced  upon  mo  the 
moment  you  left,  and  then  it  was  too  late.  I  did  not  feel 
sufficiently  strong-minded  to  elbow  my  way  through  the  crowd 
alone,  or  I  might  have  followed  you." 

"I  did  not  miss  you  at  first,"  said  Harry,  "and  then  I 
wanted  Charlie  to  go  for  you,  but "' 

"  He  very  properly  refused.  Don't  excuse  yourself,  Harry. 
And  I  had  set  my  heart  on  comparing  jackets  with  Miss 
Roxbury,  too." 

"  Why  did  you  not  stay  and  speak  to  her  at  the  doer, 
then  ?  "  said  Harry,  who  had  rather  lost  his  presence  of  mind 
under  liis  sister's  reproaches.  He  had  hurried  after  her,  fully 
intending  to  take  her  to  task  for  being  so  stiff  and  distant, 
and  he  was  not  prepared  to  defend  himself. 

"  Wliy  did  n't  you  wait  and  speak  to  her  at  the  door  ?  " 

"  Oh !  you  know,  I  could  not  have  seen  it  well  then,  as  she 
was  in  the  carriage.  It  is  very  awkward  looking  up  to  car- 
riage people,  don't  you  think  ?  And,  besides,  it  would  not 
have  been  quite  polite  to  the  Goldsmiths,"  added  she,  severe- 
ly.    "You  know  they  befiiended  mo  when  I  was  left  alone." 

"  Befriended  you,  indeed.  I  expected  every  minute  to  seo 
your  feather  take  fii*e  as  he  bent  his  red  head  do^^^l  over  it. 
I  felt  like  giving  him  a  beating,"  said  Harry,  savagely.  Rose 
lauglied  merrily. 

"My  dear  Harry!  You  couldn't  do  it.  Ho  is  so  much 
bigger  than  you.  At  least,  he  has  greater  weight,  as  the 
fighting  people  say." 

"  But  it  is  all  nonsense.  Rose.  I  don't  like  it.  It  looked 
to  me,  and  to  otlier  people,  too,  very  much  like  a  flirtation  on 
your  part,  to  leave  the  rest,  and  go  away  with  that  big — 

big " 

"  Doctor,"  suggested  Rose. 

"And  we  shall  have  all  the  town,  and  INIrs.  Gridley,  telling 

us  next,  that  you " 

'21* 


'.t 


111!: 

pi 

nil 


i   M 


';  iM^ 


N- 


490 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND  SERVICE. 


*'  HiUTv,  dear,  I  always  know  when  I  hear  you  mention 
]Mi's.  (lri(ll(>v's  name,  that  y(ju  are  bct'ouiui':'  incoherent.  / 
leave  i/nu  !  (^uite  the  contrary.  And  please  don't  use  that 
nau^'hty  word  in  connection  with  my  name  again,  or  I  may 
be  (kiven  to  defend  myself  in  a  way  that  mi<,'ht  not  be  agree- 
able to  }o\\.  Dear  me,  I  thought  you  were  gi-owing  to  be 
reasonable  by  this  time.  Don't  let  Graeme  sec  us  ijuari'd- 
ling." 

"  You  look  tii-ed,  clear,"  said  Graeme,  as  they  went  up  stairs 
together. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  little  tedious,  was  it  not  ?  Of  course,  it 
would  n't  do  to  say  so,  you  Imow.  However,  I  got  through 
it  pretty  well,  with  little  Etta's  help.  Did  you  enjoy  the 
Roxbiu'y  party  much  ?  " 

"I  kept  wishing  we  had  not  separated,"  said  Graeme. 
"  Oh !  yes,  I  enjoyed  it.  They  asked  us  there  to-night  to 
meet  some  nice  people,  they  said.  It  is  not  to  bo  a  jiarty. 
HaiTy  is  to  dine  here,  and  go  with  us,  and  so  is  Mr.  INIillar." 

"  It  will  be  very  nice,  I  daresay,  only  I  am  so  very  tired. 
However,  we  need  not  decide  till  after  diimer,"  said  Rose. 

After  duiner  she  declared  herself  too  sleepy  for  anything 
but  bed,  and  she  had  a  headache,  besides.* 

"  I  noticed  you  looked  quite  pale  this  afternoon,"  said  Ar- 
thur. "  Don't  go  if  5'ou  are  tired.  Graeme,  what  is  the  use 
of  her  going  if  she  does  not  want  to  ?" 

*'  Certamly,  she  ought  not  to  go  if  she  is  not  well.  But  I 
tliink  you  would  enjoy  this  much  better  than  a  regular  party  ; 
and  we  might  come  home  early." 

"  Oh !  I  enjoy  regular  parties  only  too  well.  I  will  go  if 
you  wish  it,  Graeme,  only  I  an  afi'aid  I  shall  not  shine  with 
my  usual  brilliancy — that  is  all !" 

"I  hope  you  are  really  ill,"  sail  Harry.  "I  mean,  I  hope 
you  are  not  just  making  believe  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"  My  dear  Harry !  Why,  in  all  the  world,  should  I  make  be- 
lieve, not  well  *  to  get  rid  of  it,'  as  you  so  elegantly  express  it  ? 
Such  gi'eat  folks,  too !" 

"  Harry,  don't  be  cross,"  said  Fanny.     "  I  am  sure  I  heard 


jani:ts  i.ovk  and  keuvick. 


491 


mention 
crent.     / 

use  Unit 
or  I  may 

bo  agree- 
ing to  bo 
s  tiuim'cl- 

t  up  stairs 

course,  it 
t  through 
enjoy  tho 

Graemo. 
:o-night  to 
lO  a  party, 
r.  [Miliar." 
very  tired. 
1  Rose. 

anything 

said  Ar- 
is  the  use 

But  I 

ar  party  ; 

will  go  if 
shine  with 

m,  I  hope 

'.  mate  be- 
ixpress  it  ? 

re  I  heard 


you  say,  a  day  or  two  Kinco,  tlmt  Rose  was  looking  thin." 

"Jliiny,  dear!''  siiid  Koso,  \\  ith  cft'usion,  "  giv(!  me  yom* 
hand.  I  I'or;^^'^'  .^"'"i  'dl  the  rest,  for  that  special  complhuont. 
I  have  had  liorrihlo  fears  lately  that  I  was  getting  stout — niid- 


dlo-aj'Cil  loi^k 


ci 


Ar< 


(piito 


suicore 
sayng  tliat,  or  :iro  yon  only  making  behove  V" 

"  I  did  n't  intend  it  as  a  compliment,  I  assure  yon.  I  did  n't 
thhik  you  were  looking  very  well." 

"Did  you  not?  Yv'luit  wmdd  you  advise?  Should  I  go 
to  the  country  ;  or  sliould  I  put  myself  imd<!r  the  doctors 
care?  Not  our  ]>ig  fiieud,  whom  yon  were  going  to  beat," 
said  Rose,  laughing. 

"I  think  you  are  a  very  silly  girl,"  said  Hairy,  with 
dignity. 

'•  You  told  mo  that  once  before,  do  n't  3'ou  remember  ?  And 
I  do  n't  think  you  arc  at  all  polite,  do  you,  Faimy  ?  Come 
up  stairs,  (ira(nue,  and  I  will  dt)  your  haii*.  It  would  not  be 
proper  to  let  Harry  go  alone.  Hois  in  a  dreadful  temper,  is 
ho  not  ?"  And  lloso  made  a  pretence  of  being  afraid  to  go 
past  him.  "  Mr.  Millar,  cannot  you  do  or  say  something  to 
soothe  y(mr  friend  and  partner  ?" 

Harry  might  imderstand  all  this,  but  Graeme  could  not, 
and  she  did  not  like  this  mood  of  Rose  at  all.  However,  she 
was  very  quiet,  as  she  dressed  her  sister's  hair,  and  spoke  of 
the  peoi)le  they  had  seen  in  the  afternoon,  and  of  the  ex- 
ercises at  the  college,  in  her  usual  merry  way.  But  she  did 
not  wish  to  go  out ;  she  was  tired,  and  had  a  headache,  listen- 
ing to  two  or  throe  things  at  one  tune,  she  said,  and  if  Graeme 
could  only  go  this  once  without  hoi-,  she  would  be  so  glad. 
Graemo  did  not  try  to  persuade  her,  but  said  she  must  go  to 
bed,  and  to  sleep  at  once,  if  she  Avere  left  at  home,  and  then 
she  went  away. 

She  did  not  go  very  clicorfuUy.  Slie  had  had  two  or  three 
glimpses  of  her  sister's  face,  after  she  had  gone  to  the  other 
side  of  the  hall  with  Harry,  before  Miss  Ci oldsmith  had  com- 
menced  her  whispered  confidences  to  Rose,  and  she  had  aeon 
there  a  look  which  brought  back  her  old  misgivings  that  there 


i 


V 


'!l| 


492 


JANKTri    LOVi:    AND   SKUVIOF. 


\:m 


■J  I 


^vaH  HomcthinfT  troubliiif^f  hor  darliiipf.  Sho  was  ncjt  able  to 
put  it  away  u^^ain.  The  foolLsli,  ]i.>lit  talk  l)C't\\  eon  lloso  and 
HaiTy  did  not  tend  to  rc-assuro  her,  aiidwlK;;^  sho  bade  hor 
sister  f>'ood-niyht,  it  was  all  thsit  hIio  oould  do  )iot  to  show  her 
anxiety  by  her  Avords.  But  she  only  said,  "  {jood-nif^'ht,  and 
j^o  to  8loc[),"  and  tlien  went  down  stairs  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Sho  wanted  to  speak  with  HaiTy  about  the  sharp  words  that 
had  more  than  onec  passed  between  him  and  lloso  of  late  ; 
but  Mr.  ]\Iillar  walked  with  thcin,  and  hIio  could  not  do  so, 
and  it  was  with  an  anxious  and  preoct;upieLl  mind  that  sho 
entered  IVIr.  Roxbui^'s  house. 

Tho  di'awing-room  was  very  handsome,  of  ccjurso,  Avith  veiy 
littlo  to  distinguish  it  from  the  many  line  rooms  of  her 
friends.  Yet  when  Graeme  stood  for  a  moment  near  tho 
folding-doors,  exchanging  gi'cetinga  with  tho  lady  of  tho 
house,  the  remembrance  of  one  time,  when  she  had  stood 
there  before,  came  sharply  back  to  her,  and,  for  a  moment, 
her  heart  grew  hot  with  the  angry  pain  and  shame  that  had 
throbbed  in  it  then.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  it  was 
not  for  herself.  The  pain  was  crossed  by  a  tlu-ill  of  gladness, 
for  the  more  certain  knowledge  that  came  to  her  that  for  her- 
self she  was  content,  that  she  wished  nothing  changed  in 
her  own  life,  that  sho  had  outlived  all  that  Avas  to  bo  regret- 
ted of  that  troubled  time.  She  had  known  this  before,  and 
the  knowledge  camo  homo  to  her  joyfully  as  sho  stood  there, 
b;it  it  did  not  lighten  her  bui'den  of  dread  of  what  might  Ho 
in  the  future  for  her  sister. 

It  did  not  leave  her  all  the  evening.  Sho  watched  tho 
pretty,  gentle  Amy,  flitting  about  among  her  father's  guests, 
AAitli  a  feeling  Avliich,  but  for  the  guileless  sweetness  of  the 
girl's  face,  the  innocent  miconsciousnoss  of  every  look  and 
movement,  might  have  grown  to  bitterness  at  last.  Sho 
A\'atched  her  waj's  and  words  with  ]\Ir.  ^Millar,  Avishing,  in  her 
look  or  manner,  to  sgo  some  demand  for  his  admiratioi  and 
attention,  that  might  excuse  the  Avaadering  of  his  fanc}'  from 
Eoso.  But  sho  Avatehed  in  vain.  Amy  Avas  sweet  and  modest 
v.'ith  him  as  with  others,  more  friendly  and  unreserved  thaji 


w  I 


t  able  to 
Hose  and 
bade  her 
show  her 
lil^'lit,  uiul 
:ivy  heart, 
ords  that 
10  of  liitc  ; 
lot  do  BO, 
[  that  she 

,  Avith  veiy 
us  of  her 
■j  near  the 
dy  of  tho 
had  stood 
I  moment, 
5  that  had 
find  it  was 
'  gladness, 
lat  for  hcr- 
■hangcd  in 

be  regret- 
)efore,  and 
ood  there, 

might  he 

itched  tho 
's  guests, 
less  of  tho 
look  and 
ast.  She 
hip-,  in  her 
ratioi  and 
ancy  from 
lid  modest 
wed  thau 


I 


JANET  3   LOVi:   AND   SERVK'K. 


403 


with  most,  perhaps,  but  sweet  and  modest,  and  unconscious, 
still. 

'•Slio  is  very  hko  Lily  Elphhistono,  is  she  not?"  said  her 
brother  Ilarrv  in  her  car. 

She  started  at  his  voice  ;  Ijut  she  did  nr)t  luni  toward  him, 
or  remove  her  eyes  from  tlu;  young  girl's  face. 

"She  is  ver}^  like  Lily — in  all  things,"  said  (rracme  ;  and 
to  hersilf  slio  added,  "  and  she  will  steal  the  treasure  from 
my  darling's  life,  as  Lily  stole  it  from  mine — innocently  and 
unconsciously,  butmevitably  still — and  fi'om  HaiTy's,  too,  it 
may  be." 

And,  with  a  new  pang,  she  turned  to  look  at  her  brother's 
face  ;  but  HaiTV  was  no  longer  at  her  side.  ]?.Ir.  Millar  was 
there,  and  his  eyes  had  been  following  hers,  as  Harry's  had 
been. 

"She  is  very  '/ect  and  lovely — veiy  lilce  Lily,  is  she  not?" 
ho  whispercLl. 

"  Very  like  her,"  repeated  Graeme,  her  eyes  closing  with  a 
momentary  feeling  of  sickness. 

"  You  are  very  thed  of  all  this,  I  am  afraid,"  said  he. 

"  Very  tired !     If  Hany  only  would  take  me  home !" 

'•  Shall  I  take  you  home '?  At  least,  let  me  take  you  out  of 
the  crowd.  Have  you  suen  Ibe  new  pictiu'e  they  are  all  talk- 
ing about '?     SLall  I  take  you  ujs  stairs  for  a  little  while." 

(iraemo  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  went  up 
stairs  in  a  dream.  It  was  all  ho  like  what  had  Ijcen  before — 
the  lights,  and  the  music,  and  the  hum  of  voices,  and  the  sick 
pain  at  her  heart ;  only  the  pain  was  now  for  Eos(^,  and  so 
much  worse  to  bear.  Still  in  a  dream,  she  went  fi'om  pictm-o 
to  picture,  listening  and  replyuig  to  she  knew  not  what ;  and 
she  sat  down,  with  her  eyes  iixed  on  one  beautiful,  sad  face, 
and  prayed  vrith  all  her  heart,  for  it  A^-as  Hosie's  face  that 
looked  down  at  her  from  the  c.uivas  ;  it  was  liosie's  sorrow 
that  she  saw  in  those  sweet,  appealing  eyes. 

"Anything  but  this  great  sorrvjw,'' she  was  saying  in  her 
heart,  f  jrgetting  all  else  in  tlie  agony  of  her  entreaty  ;  and  her 
companion,  seeing  her  so  moved,   went  softly  away.      Not 


i% 


494 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


very  fur,  however.  At  the  first  sound  of  aiDproaching  foot- 
steps ho  was  at  her  side  again. 

"That  is  a  very  sad  picture,  I  think,"'  she  said,  coming 
back  with  an  effort  to  the  present.  "  I  have  seen  it  once  be- 
fore." 

CharHe  did  not  look  at  the  picture,  but  at  her  changing 
face.  An  impulse  of  sj'mpathy,  of  admiration,  of  respect 
moved  him.  Scarce  knowing  Avhat  he  did,  he  took  her  hand, 
and,  before  he  placed  it  within  his  arm,  he  raised  it  to  his 
lips. 

"Miss  Elliott,"  murmured  he,  "  >/ou  will  never  take  j'our 
fi'iendship  fi'om  me,  whatever  may  happen  V" 

She  was  too  startled  to  answer  for  a  moment,  and  then 
they  were  in  the  crowd  again.  "What  was  he  thinking  of ! 
Of  Allan  and  the  past,  or  of  Rose  and  Amy  and  the  futiu'e  ? 
A  momentary  indignation  moved  her,  but  she  did  not  si:)eak, 
and  then  httle  Amy  was  looking  up  in  her  face,  rather  anx- 
iously and  wistfully,  Graeme  thought. 

"  You  are  not  gouig  away,  Miss  Elhott,  are  you  ?"  said  she. 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  said  Graeme.  "  Oh !  here  is  my  brother. 
I  am  very  sorry  to  take  you  away,  Harry,  but  if  you  don't 
mind  much,  I  shoidd  like  to  go  home.  Will  you  make  my 
adicux  to  your  mother,  IVIiss  Roxbiuy? — No,  please  do  not 
come  up  stau's.  I  would  much  rather  you  thd  not.  Good 
night." 

"  You  might  at  least  have  been  civil  to  the  little  thing," 
growled  Hany,  as  she  took  his  arm  when  they  reached  the 
street.     Graeme  laughed. 

"Civil !"  she  repeated  and  laughed  again,  a  little  bitterly. 
"Oh!  Ilarrv,  dear!  there  are  so  many  things  that  vou  can- 
not  be  supposed  to  know.  But,  nideed,  I  did  not  mean  to  bo 
uncivil  to  the  child." 

"  Then  you  were  micivil  without  meaning  it,"  said  Han'v, 
shaqily. 

Graeme  was  silent  a  moment. 

*'  I  do  not  choose  to  answer  a  charge  like  that,"  said  she. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Graeme,  but — " 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


495 


iching  foot- 

laicl,  coming 
it  once  be- 
er changing 
1,  of  respect 
3k  lior  hand, 
iecl  it  to  his 

31'  take  your 

3nt,  and  then 
thinking  of. 
clthefutm-e? 
lid  not  speak, 
e,  rather  anx- 

u  ?"  said  she. 
s  my  brother. 
|t  if  you  don't 
ou  make  my 
liloase  do  not 
\  not.     Good 

littk>  thing," 
ly  reached  the 

httle  bitt(^rly. 

Ithat  you  can- 

)t  mean  to  be 

I"  said  Han-y, 


It,"  said  she. 


Then 


"  HaiTy,  hush  !     I  will  not  listen  to  you." 

They  did  not  speak  again  till  they  reached  home, 
Graeme  said, 

"  I  must  say  something  to  you,  Hariy.  Let  us  walk  on  a 
little.  It  is  not  late.  Hai'iy,  what  is  the  trouble  between 
you  and  Rose  ?" 

"Trouble!"  repeated  HaiT}',  in  amazement.  "Do  you 
mean  because  she  fancied  herself  left  alone  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do  not  mean  that.  But  more  than  once 
lately  you  have  spoken  to  each  other  as  though  you  were 
alluding  to  something  of  which  I  am  ignorant — something 
that  must  have  happened  when  you  were  away  fi'om  home — 
at  the  West,  I  mean — something  which  I  have  not  been  told." 

"  Graeme,  I  don't  imderstand  what  j'ou  mean.  "What  could 
possibly  have  happened  which  has  been  concealed  fi'om  you  ? 
AMiy  don't  you  ask  Rose  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  not  hitherto  thought  it  necessary  to  ask 
any  one,  and  now  I  prefer  to  ask  you.  Harry,  dear,  I  don't 
think  it  is  anything  very  seiious.  Don't  be  impatient  with 
me." 

"  Has  Rose  been  saying  anything  to  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  that  I  have  not  heard  you  say  youi'self.  You 
accused  her  once  in  my  hearing  of  being  too  fond  of  admira- 
tion, of — of  flii-ting,  in  short — " 

"  My  dear  Graeme !  I  don't  think  I  ever  made  any  such 
assertion — at  least  in  a  way  that  you  or  Rose  need  to  resent — 
or  complain  of." 

"  Rose  does  not  complain  of  it,  she  laughs  at  it.  Hany, 
dear,  what  is  it?  Don't  you  remember  one  night  when  some- 
thing was  said  about  ]\Irs.  Gridlcy — no,  don't  be  imj)aticiit. 
Yqja  were  annoyed  ■vvith  Rose,  then,  and  it  was  not  about 
anything  that  was  said  at  the  time,  at  least  I  thought  not. 
I  don't  wish  to  seem  prying  or  inquisitive,  but  what  concerns 
Rose  is  a  great  matter  to  mo.  She  is  more  to  mo  than  any 
one." 

"Graeme,"  said  Harry,  gravely,  "you  don't  suppose  that  I 
love  Rose  loss  than  you  do.     I  think  I  Iniow  what  you  mean, 


^^. 


■mui 


yff'f 


.  f; 


496 


JANKTS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


liowover.  I  annoyed  her  once  by  something  I  said  a1x>ut 
Charhe,  but  it  was  only  for  the  moment.  I  am  siu'c  she  does 
not  care  about  that  now." 


(( 


About  Charlie !"  repeated  Graeme. 

"  Yes  ;  you  did  not  know  it,  I  suppose,  but  it  was  a  serious 
matter  to  Charhe  when  you  and  Rose  went  away  that  time. 
He  was  hko  a  man  lost.  And  I  do  believe  she  cared  for  him, 
too — and  I  told  him  so — only  she  was  such  a  cliilcL" 

"  You  told  him  so !"  rej)eated  Graeme,  in  astonislmient. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  Graeme.  The  poor  fellow  wa.s  in 
such  a  Avay,  so — so  miserable  ;  and  when  he  went  West  last 
winter,  it  was  more  to  see  Rose  than  for  anything  else.  But 
ho  came  back  quite  downhearted.  She  was  so  much  run  after, 
he  said,  and  she  was  very  distant  with  hun.  Not^tliat  he  said 
very  much  about  it.  But  when  I  went  out  there  afterwards, 
I  took  her  to  task  shai^ply  about  it." 

"  Hariy !  How  could  you  ?" 

"  Very  easily.  It  is  a  serious  thing  when  a  gu*l  plays  fast 
and  loose  with  a  man's  heart,  and  such  a  man  as  Charhe. 
And  I  told  her  so  roundly." 

"  And  how  did  she  take  it  ?"  asked  Graeme,  in  a  maze  Ijo 
tween  astonishment  and  vexation. 

"  Oh !  she  was  as  high  and  mighty  as  possible,  called  my 
interference  rudeness  and  unpertinence,  and  walked  out  of 
the  room  like  an  oflcnded  princess — and  I  rather  think  I  had 
the  worst  of  it,"  added  Harry,  laughing  at  the  remembrance. 
"  But  I  don't  bear  malice,  and  I  don't  thmk  Rose  dues.", 

"  Of  course,  she  does  not.  But  Harry,  dear,  though  I  should 
not  call  yoiu'  interference  impertinent  in  any  bad  sense,  I 
must  say  is  was  not  a  very  wise  thing  to  take  her  to  task,  as 
you  call  it.  I  don't  believe  ]Mr.  IMillar  ever  said  a  word  to 
her  about — abont  his  fcehngs,  and  you  don't  suppose  she  was 
going  to  confess,  or  allow  you  to  scold  her  about — any  one." 
"  Now,  Graeme,  don't  bo  missish  !  *  Never  said  a  word  I' — 
"Why,  a  blind  man  might  have  seen  it  all  along.  I  know  we 
all  looked  upon  her  as  a  child,  but  a  woman  soon  knows 
when  a  man  cares  for  her." 


JANI'.T  S    LOVF.   AND   SERVICE. 


497 


said  aliout 
e  she  docs 


IS  a  serious 
,'  tliat  time, 
•cd  for  liiin, 

i" 

isluaent. 
How  was  in 
it  West  last 
T  else.  But 
ch  run  after, 
tliat  he  said 
!  afterwards, 


ill  plays  fast 
n  as  Charlie. 

n  a  maze  be- 

lo,  called  my 
liked  out  of 
think  I  had 
iiieinbrauec. 
does.", 
|ugh  I  should 
|bad  sense,  I 
r  to  task,  as 
,id  a  word  to 
(osc  she  was 
t — any  one." 
a  word '.' — 
I  know  we 
Koon  knows 


"No  wise  woman  will  aclai(nvlc(lr,'c  it  to  anotlicr  till  .slio 
has  been  told  so  in  words  ;  at  least  she  ou^lit  'lut,"  said 
Gracino,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  well ! — th(^rc  is  no  use  talking".  Perhaps  I  was  fool- 
ish ;  but  I  love  Charhe,  dearly.  I  daresay  Rose  thinks  her- 
self too  good  for  him,  because  ho  docs  not  pretend  to  be  so 
wonderfully  intellectual  as  some  of  her  admii-ers  do,  and  you 
may  agree  with  her.  But  I  tell  you,  Graeme,  Charlie  is  pm-e 
gold.  I  don't  know  another  that  wih  compare  with  him,  for 
everything  pure  and  good  and  high-minded — unless  it  is  our 
own  Will.  ;  and  it  is  ^o  long  since  wc  have  seen  him,  we  don't 
know  how  he  may  be  changed  by  this  time.  Uut  I  c;ui  swear 
for  Charlie. " 

"You  don't  need  to  swear  to  me,  HiU'iy.  You  know  well 
I  have  alwavs  liked  Charlie." 

"  V'eW,  it  can't  bo  helped  now.  Charlie  has  got  over  it. 
Men  do  get  over  these  tilings,  tin  )Ugh  it  doesn't  seem  possible 
to  them  at  tlio  time,"  added  Harry,  meditaiively.  "I  was 
rather  afraid  of  Eosie's  coming  home,  and  I  wanted  Charlie 
to  go  to  St;otland,  then,  but  he  is  all  right  now.  Of  course 
you  are  not  to  suppose  that  I  blame  liose.  Such  things  will 
happen,  and  it  is  well  it  is  no  worse.  It  is  the  way  with  those 
girls  not  to  know  or  value  true  worth  because  they  see  it 
every  day." 

"  Poor  Cliaiiie  !"  said  Graeme,  softly. 

"  Oh !  don't  fret  about  Charlie.  lie  is  all  right  noAv.  Ho 
is  not  the  man  to  lose  the  good  of  his  lifo  because  a  silly  girl 
doesn't  know  her  own  mind.  'There's  as  good  fish  in  the 
sea,'  you  know.  If  you  are  going  to  be  sorry  for  any  one,  let 
it  Ije  for  Rosic.  She  has  lost  a  rare  chance  for  happiness  in 
the  love  of  a  good  niiin." 

"But  it  may  not  he  lost,"  murmured  Graeme. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is,"  said  Harry,  gravely.  "  It  is  not  in 
Rose  to  do  justice  to  Charlie.  ICven  you  don't  do  it,  Graeme. 
Because  he  lives  just  a  common-place  life,  and  buys  and  sells, 
and  comes  and  goes,  like  other  men,  you  women  have  not  the 
discrimination  to  see  that  he  is  one  of  a  thousand.     As  for 


if  I;" 


}  f- 


'It. 

I 


i 


hi  ' 


j. 

1 

1. 

IB 

fcl 

1 

1 

IJH ' 

•* 

! 

K 

JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 

Rose,  with  lior  romance,  and  lier  nonsense,  she  is  looking  for 
a  hero  and  a  pahidin,  and  does  not  know  a  true  heart  when 
it  is  laid  at  her  fi3ct.  I  only  hope  she  wont  '  wait  for  the  hats 
till  the  bhie-bonnets  go  by,'  as  Janet  used  to  say." 

"  As  I  have  done,  yon  v*-ould  like  to  add,"  said  GracTne, 
laughing,  for  her  heart  was  gi'owing  hght.  "Antl  liarrj^, 
dear,  Rosie  never  had  anybody's  heart  laid  at  her  feet.  It  is 
you  who  are  growing  foolish  and  romantic,  m  your  love  for 
youi'  friend." 

"  Oh !  well.  It  does  n't  matter.  She  will  never  have  it 
now.  Charlie  is  all  right  by  this  time.  Her  high  and  mighty 
airs  have  cured  him,  and  her  flippancy  and  her  love  of  admi- 
ration. Fancy  her  walking  off  to-day  with  that  red-headed 
fool,  and  quite  ignoring  IMrs.  lloxburj'  and  her  daughter, 
when  they — Miss  Roxbiu-y,  at  least — wanted  to  see  her  to 
engage  her  for  this  evening." 

"  He  is  not  a  fool,  and  he  cannot  helj^  his  red  hair,"  said 
Graeme,  laughing,  though  there  was  both  sadness  and  vexa- 
tion in  her  heart.  "  The  Goldsmiths  might  have  called  her 
'  high  and  mighty '  if  she  had  left  them  and  gone  quite  out 
of  her  v.'ay,  as  she  must  have  done,  to  speak  to  those  '  fine 
carriage  people.'  She  could  only  choose  between  the  two 
jDarties,  and  I  tliink  poHtcuess  and  kindness  suggested  the 
propriety  of  gomg  on  with  her  fi-iends,  not  a  love  of  admu'a- 
tion,  as  you  seem  determined  to  suppose." 

"  She  need  not  have  been  rude  to  the  Roxburys,  however. 
Charlie  noticed  it  as  weU  as  I." 

"  I  think  you  arc  speaking  very  foolishly,  Harry,"  said 
Graeme.  "  What  do  the  Roxburys  care  for  any  of  us  ?  Do 
you  suppose  Mrs.  Roxbury  would  notice  a  slight  from  a  young 
gu-1  like  Rose.     And  she  was  not  rude." 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  she  was  jiolite  in  a  way  so  distant 
and  diguiticd,  so  condescending,  even,  that  I  was  amazed,  and 
so  was  Charlie,  I  know,  though  ho  did  not  say  so." 

"  Nonsense,  Harry  !  Rose  knows  them  but  veiy  slightly. 
And  what  has  Mr.  Millar  to  do  with  it  ?" 

*'  Mr.  IMillar !"    exclaimed  llany.      "  Do  bo  reasonable, 


JANET  S    I.OVE   AND   SERVICE. 


499 


looking  for 
heart  wlieu 
for  tlic  hats 

ill  OracTue, 
cSjitl  Harry, 
;  feet.  It  ia 
our  love  for 

ever  have  it 
and  miglity 
ove  of  adnii- 
b  red-lieaded 
cr  dangliter, 
0  sec  lier  to 

idliair,"  said 
eas  and  vexa- 
ve  called  her 
mc  quite  out 
those  'fine 
cen  the  two 
uggested  the 
jve  of  admira- 

rya,  however. 

Harry,"  said 
[r  of  us  ?  Ho 
|from  a  young 

ray  so  distant 
amazed,  and 

liO." 

iveiy  slightly. 
|e  reasonable, 


Graeme.     Is  it  not  of  IMr.  Millar  that  we  have  been  speaking 
all  this  time  ?     He  has  everything  to  do  with  it.     And  as  for 


not  knowinjif  thci 


at  fii'st  ddiubted 


i  am  sure  nose  was 
with  Miss  Roxbnry.  And  Amy  was  as  delighted  with  her, 
and  wanted  to  be  intimate,  I  know.  But  Hose  is  such  a 
flighty,  flippant  litilo  thing,  that " 

"  That  will  do,  Harry.  Such  remarks  may  be  reserved  for 
Mr.  Millar's  hearing.  I  do  not  choose  to  listen  to  them. 
You  are  veiy  unjust  to  Rose." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  unjust,  Graeme,  and  unreasonable,  and 
a  little  out  of  temper,  which  docs  not  often  happen  with  you. 
I  am  suTe  I  don't  understand  it." 

Graeme  laughed. 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  am  a  little  out  of  temper,  HaiTv.  I 
know  I  am  th-cadfiiUy  lu*od.  "We  won't  say  anythmg  more 
about  it  to-night,  except  that  I  don't  like  to  have  Rose  mis- 
understood." 

"  I  was,  perhaps,  a  httlo  hard  on  Rosio,  once,  but  I  don't 
think  I  misunderstand  her,"  said  Harry,  wisely.  "  She  is 
just  like  other  girls,  I  supjioso  ;  only,  (iracme,  you  have  got 
me  into  the  way  of  tliinking  that  my  sisters  should  not  be 
just  like  other  giiis,  but  a  great  deal  better  in  every  way. 
And  I  shan't  be  hai'd  on  her  any  more,  now  that  it  is  all 
right  with  Charlie." 

But  was  it  all  light  with  Charlie  ?  Graeme's  talk  with 
Harry  had  not  enlightened  her  much.  Had  pretty,  gentle 
Amy  Roxbuiy  helped  Charlie  "  to  get  over  it,"  as  Harry's 
manner  of  speaking  seemed  to  imply  ?  Or  did  Charlie  still 
care  for  Rose  ?  And  had  Rose  ever  cared  for  him  "  in  that 
•vm,y  ?"  Was  Rose  foolish,  and  flippant,  and  fond  of  admira- 
tion, as  Harry  declared ;  and  was  she  growing  dissatistied 
with  thou*  quiet,  uneventfid  life?  Was  it  this  tliat  had 
brought  over  her  the  change  which  could  not  be  talked 
ab  5ut  or  noticed,  which,  at  most  times,  could  not  be  believed 
irr,  but  which,  now  and  then,  made  itself  evident  as  very  real 
Q/id  very  sad  ?  Or  was  it  something  else  that  was  bringing  a 
clo)ud  and  a  shadow  over  the  Hfe  of  her  young  sister  ?    Even 


■*■"; 


?  b 

■> 


;l-(«^^Pi 


noo 


JANl-TS    LOVE    ANT)   8KUVICK. 


in  licr  tlumtiilit'^,  (iraoino  shrunk  from  ;ulrniiiin<:^  tliaf  Iloso 
nn"^lit.  1)0  coniinpc  *^^<>  ^^o  laiowlcdgo  of  lior  own  heart  too  hito 
for  licr  hapj)in('.s.s. 

"  I  will  not  beliovo  tliat  she  has  all  that  to  pass  throu;ifh. 
It  (vmnot  bo  so  bad  as  that.  I  will  havo  pationoo  and  trust. 
I  cannot  speak  to  her.  It  would  do  no  good.  I  will  wait 
and  inisf." 

(}ra(Mno  sat  lonj;  that  night  listening  to  tho  quiet  breath- 
ing of  her  sleeping  sister  ;  but  all  tho  anxious  thoughts  that 
passed  llu'ough  her  mind  could  only  end  in  this  :  "  I  will 
wait  and  trust/' 


Ml 


CHAPTER    XL. 


C"^  RAEIME  awolio  in  tlio  nioniiiifjf  to  wonder  at  all  tlio 
^  (loul)tH  and  anxieties  that  had  filled  her  mind  in  the 
darkne.sa  ;  for  Hhe  was  aroused  by  baby  kissen  on  her  lips, 
and  opened  her  eyes  to  see  her  sister  Hose,  wilh  her  nephew 
in  her  arms,  and  her  face  as  brif^ht  as  the  INIay  moniin^', 
fimilin;^  down  upon  her.  llose  disappointed  and  sad  !  IJoso 
hidinjjf  in  her  heart  hopes  that  were  never  to  b(!  realized ! 
She  list(Mied  to  her  voice,  ringing  through  tlio  house,  like  tho 
voice  of  the  morning  lark,  and  wondered  at  her  own  folly. 
She  laughed,  as  Itosc  babbled  to  the  child  in  the  wonderful 
baby  language  in  which  she  so  excelled  ;  but  tears  of  tliank- 
fnlness  rose  to  her  eyes  as  she  remembered  the  fears  f)f  tho 
night,  and  sot  them  face  to  face  with  the  joy  of  the  morning. 

"  I  could  not  have  borne  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  '•  I  am 
afraid  I  never  could  have  borne  to  see  my  darling  drooping, 
as  she  nnist  have  done.  I  am  content  with  my  own  lot.  I 
think  I  wou'd  not  care  to  change  anything  tho  years  have 

brought  to  me.     But  Rosie .     Ah !  well,  I  might  have 

known !  I  know  I  ought  to  tnist  for  Rosie,  too,  even  if 
troul)le  were  to  come.  But  oh  !  I  am  very  gLid  and  thanlcful 
for  her  sake." 

She  was  late  in  the  brealdast-room,  and  she  found  HaiTy 
there. 

'• '  The  early  bird,'  you  know,  Graeme,"  said  he.  "  I  have 
been  telling  llosio  what  a  scolding  you  were  giving  mo  last 
night  on  oiu*  way  homo." 

"  But  ho  won't  tell  me  what  it  v/as  all  about,"  said  Rose. 

"I  cannot.  I  don't  know  myself.  I  have  an  idea  that 
you  had  something  to  do  with  it,  Itosic.     But  I  can  give  no 

(501) 


Ill 


502 


jankt's  love  and  service. 


l-i'^H 


detailed  account  of  the  circumstances,  as  the  newspapers 
say." 

"  It  is  not  absolutely  necessaiy  that  you  should,"  said 
Graeme,  smiling. 

"  I  hope  you  arc  in  a  much  better  humor  this  morning, 
Graeme." 

"  I  think  I  am  in  a  prett}'  good  humor.  Not  that  I  confess 
to  iK'iiig  very  cross  last  night,  however." 

"  It  was  ho  who  was  cross,  I  daresay,"  said  Hose.  "  You 
l)rought  him  away  before  supper !  No  wonder  he  was  cross. 
Ai'e  you  going  to  stay  very  long,  Harry  ?" 

"  AVhy  ?     Have  you  any  commands  for  me  to  execute  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  goiug  to  introduce  a  suljject  that  will  try 
your  temper,  judging  from  your  conduct  yesterday.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  be  threatenhig  to  beat  some  one." 

Hari'y  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Now,  Graeme,  don't  you  call  that  flippant  ?  Is  it  any- 
thing about  the  big  doctor,  Eosie  ?" 

*'  You  won't  boat  him,  will  you  Harry  ?  No.  It  is  only 
about  his  sister.  Graeme,  Fanny  has  given  me  leave  to  in- 
vite her  here  for  a  few  days,  if  you  have  no  objection.  She 
cannot  bo  enjoy mg  herself  very  much  where  she  is  staying, 
and  it  will  bo  a  real  liohday  to  the  little  thing  to  come  hero 
for  a  while.  She  is  very  easily  amused.  She  makes  pleasure 
out  of  everything.     May  n't  she  come  ?" 

"  Ceiiainly,  if  you  would  like  her  to  come ;  I  should  like 
to  know  her  very  much." 

"  And  is  the  big  brother  to  come,  too  ?"  asked  Arthui*. 

"  No.  He  leaves  town  to-day.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Harry,  to  fetch  her  here  ?" 

"  But  what  about  '  papa  and  mamma,'  to  whom  you  were 
to  bo  shown  ?  The  cunning,  little  thing  has  some  design 
upon  you,  Rosic,  or.  perhaps,  on  Some  of  the  rest  of  us." 

Rose  laughed. 

"  Don't  bo  frightened,  Harry.  Y'ou  are  safe,  as  jon  are  not 
domesticated  with  us.  And  1  intend  to  show  myself  to 
'  papa  and  mamma '  later,  if  you  don't  object." 


JANET  S    LOVi:   AM)    8EUV1CE. 


503 


lewspapers 

3uld,"  said 

H  morning, 

it  I  confess 

)aG.     "  You 
I  ^Yas  cross. 

SGCUtc  ?" 

iiat  will  tiy 
day.    I  am 

Is  it  any- 

It  is  only 
leave  to  in- 
ction.  She 
is  staying, 
come  licro 
£cs  pleasure 

should  like 

Arthur, 
with  me, 

11  you  were 
3me  design 
of  us." 

yon  are  not 
myself   to 


"  There !  look  at  Graomc.  She  thinlcs  vou  and  I  arc 
qnaiTclling,  Rosio.     She  is  as  p;va\G  as  a  juilj:jo." 

"  Tell  us  about  the  party,  Harry,"  said  Fanny. 

"  It  was  very  pleasant.  I  don't  think  Graeme  enjoyed  it 
much,  liowever.  I  wonder,  too,  that  she  thd  not,  for  there 
were  more  nice  people  there  than  we  usually  sec  at  parties. 
It  was  more  than  usually  agreeable,  I  thought.'* 

"  You  are  degonerathig,  Harry,"  said  his  brother.  "  I 
thought  you  were  beyond  all  tluit  sort  of  thing.  I  should 
have  thought  you  would  have  found  it  slow,  to  say  the  least." 

"  And  then  to  make  him  lose  the  suj^per !  It  was  too  bad 
of  you,  Graeme,"  said  Rose. 

"Oh !  she  did  n't.     I  went  back  again." 

They  all  exclaimed.     Harry,  only,  laughed. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  and  yoiu*  fi'iend,  Rosie  ?  " 
asked  he. 

"  Yes,  indeed  you  can.  I  mtcnd  to  make  a  real  holiday  for 
the  Httle  thing.  AYo  are  open  to  any  proj^osal  in  the  way  of 
pleasiu'e,  riding,  driving,  boating,  picnicing,  one  and  all." 

"  It  is  very  Idnd  of  you,  Harry,  to  olibr,"  said  Graeme. 

*'  Hem  !  not  at  all.     I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said  Harry. 

"  Oh !  we  shall  not  be  exactuig.  We  arc  easily  amused, 
httle  Etta  and  I." 

Miss  Goldsmith's  visit  was  a  success.  She  was  a  very  nice 
little  girl,  whose  life  had  been  passed  in  the  country — not  in 
a  village  *even,  but  quite  away  from  neighbors,  on  a  farm,  in 
which  her  father  had  rather  unfortunately  invested  the  greater 
part  of  his  means.  It  might  not  prove  to  be  unfortunate  in 
the  end,  Etta  explained  to  them,  because  the  land  was  valuable, 
only  in  the  meantime  it  seemed  to  take  all  the  income  just  to 
keep  thmgs  going.  But  by  and  by  she  hoped  farming  would 
pay,  and  the  place  was  beautiful,  and  they  lived  very  happily 
there,  if  they  only  had  a  Httle  more  money,  Etta  added 
gravely. 

Dick  was  the  hero  who  was  to  retrieve  the  fallen  fortunes 
of  the  family,  Etta  thought.  He  was  her  only  o\ni  brother. 
All  the  rest  of  the  children  were  only  her  half-brothers  and 


i 


f 


I  Iff 

In 


\      ! 


i'?i 


11 


K 


-H      ' 

1 

1 

1 

501 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


sisters.    But  notwithstanding  tlio  hard  times  to  which  Etta 
confessed,  they  were  a  very  happy  family,  it  seemed, 

Everything  was  made  pleasure  by  this  little  girl.  It  was 
pleasure  just  to  diive  through  the  streets,  to  see  the  well- 
dressed  people,  to  look  in  at  the  shop  windows.  Shopping  was 
pleasure  though  she  had  little  to  spend.  An  hour  in  a  book- 
seller's, or  in^a  fancy  shop,  was  pleasure.  The  churches,  old 
and  new,  were  wonderful  to  her,  some  for  one  reason,  some 
for  another.  Rose  and  she  became  independent  and  strong- 
minded,  and  went  everywhere  without  an  escort.  They  spent 
a  day  in  wandering  about  the  shady  walks  of  the  new  csmetery, 
and  an  afternoon  gazing  down  on  the  city  from  the  cathedi'al 
towers.  They  paid  visits  and  received  them  ;  and,  on  rainy 
days,  worked  and  read  together  wdth  great  dehght,  if  not 
with  much  profit.  Rose,  with  both  heart  and  hands,  helped 
her  friend  to  make  the  most  of  her  small  allowance  for  dress; 
and  contrived,  out  of  odds  and  ends,  to  make  pretty,  inexpen- 
sive ornaments  for  her,  and  presents  for  her  little  brothers 
and  sisters  at  home.  She  taught  her  new  patterns  in  crochet, 
and  new  stitches  in  Berlin  wool.  She  even  gave  her  a  music 
lesson,  now  and  then,  and  insisted  on  her  practising,  dailj', 
that  she  might  get  back  what  she  had  lost  since  she  left 
school,  and  so  be  able  the  better  to  teach  her  little  sisters 
when  she  went  home.  In  short,  she  contrived  to  fill  up  the 
time  with  amusement,  or  with  work  of  some  sort.  Not  a 
moment  but  was  occupied  in  some  way. 

Of  course,  Graeme  was  sometimes  included  in  their  plans 
for  the  day,  and  so  were  Fanny  and  baby,  but  for  the  most  part 
the  young  girls  were  occupied  with  each  other ;  and  the  visit, 
which  was  to  have  been  for  a  few  days,  lengthened  out  beyond 
the  month,  and  might  have  been  longer  than  that,  even,  only 
Rose  had  a  slight,  feverish  attack  which  confined  her  to  her 
room  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  Etta  could  no  longer  hide 
from  herself  that  she  ought  to  go  home. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  find  that  this  pleasant  time  has  spoiled 
me.  I  think  papa  and  mamma  arc  somewhat  afraid.  I  mean  to 
bo  good,  and  contented,  and  helpful ;  but  I  know  I  am  only  a 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICK. 


505 


•liich  Etta      . 

I, 

I.    It  was 

!  tlie  well- 

ipping  was 

in  a  book- 

iirclies,  old 

ison,  some 

md  Etrong- 

riicy  Biicnt 

V  cametery, 

e  oatliedi-al 

d,  on  rainy 

iglit,  if  not 

nds,  helped 

e  for  dress; 

ty,  inexpen- 

le  brothers 

}  in  crochet, 

her  a  music 

ising,  daily, 

,ce  she  left 

ittle  sisters 

mi  np  the 

irt.     Not  a 

their  plans 
le  most  part 
lid  the  visit, 

out  beyond 
I,  even,  only 
her  to  her 
llongcr  hide 

I  has  spoiled 
I  mean  to 

II  am  only  a 


siUy  little  thing.  Oh !  Rosic !  if  you  were  only  going  homo 
with  mo  for  a  little  wliilc !  " 

*'  I  should  like  it  very  much,  indeed,"  s:iid  Rose. 

"Of  course,  everything  is  very  diirorcnt  at  oui*  house,  but 
you  would  n't  mind  that.  j\Iiss  Elliott,  do  n't  you  think  you 
could  spare  Rose  to  me  for  a  few  days?  " 

Graeme  shook  her  head. 

"  I  think  I  have  sj^arcd  her  to  you  a  good  many  day.s.  I 
have  seen  very  little  of  her  for  a  long  time,  I  think." 

Miss  Goldsmith  looked  grieved  and  penitent. 

"  Nonsense,  Etta,"  said  Rose  ;  "  she  is  only  laughing  at  you. 
She  has  had  you  and  me,  too.  And  I  should  like  very  much 
to  go  with  you.  This  is  the  nicest  time  of  the  year  to  be  in 
the  countiy,  I  think.     What  do  you  say  Graeme  ?  " 

Little  Etta  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked  at  Graeme  so  in- 
treatingly,  that  Rose  laughed  heartUy.  But  Graeme  said 
nothing  encouraging.  However,  the  very  hottest  days  of  the 
summer  came  that  season  among  the  first  June  days,  and,  be- 
cause of  the  heat,  Graeme  thought  Rose  did  not  recover  from 
her  illness  so  quickly  as  she  ought  to  have  done.  She  w:is 
languid  and  pale,  though  pretty  busy  still,  and  cheerful,  and 
Graeme  proposed  that  she  should  go  with  her  friend  for  a 
few  days,  at  least.     Etta  was  enchanted. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  resolutions  about  being  good,  and  help:: ig 
mamma,  and  teaching  the  little  ones,  would  have  falx  ii 
through,  for  I  know  I  am  a  foolish  gnl.  But  with  Rost^  to 
help  me,  just  at  first,  I  shall  succeed  I  know." 

"  Do  n't  be  silly,  Etta,"  said  Rose.  "  You  are  a  great  deal 
wiser  and  better,  and  of  a  gi'cat  deal  more  use  m  the  worM, 
than  ever'I  was,  or  am  like  to  be.  All  my  wisioin  is  lip-wis- 
dom, and  my  goodness  lip-goodness.  If  they  will  help  you, 
you  shall  have  the  benefit  of  them  ;  but  pray  do  n't  m  iko  mo 
blush  before  Graeme  and  Fanny,  who  know  me  so  well." 

No  time  had  to  be  lost  in  preparations.  The  decision  was 
made  one  da}-,  and  they  were  to  leave  the  next.  Harry,  with 
his  friend  and  partner,  caine  up  one  night  to  bid  IMiss  Gold- 
smith good-bye,  and  heard  for  tiie  first  time  of  Rose's  inten- 
22 


»«,!:■     1 


506 


JAXKT8    LoVK    AND    Si;KVICK. 


■.  ■  i! 


I    i 


tion  to  f?o  with  h(-r.  Htiri-v  did  not  ho:iv  it  v.  itli  pleasure, 
indeed  ;  ho  mfido  no  secret  of  liis  voMatiou.  There  was  a  little 
bantering  talk  betv.'cen  them,  in  the  style  tiiat  (iraenie  dis- 
liked so  much,  and  then  Rose  went  away  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Graeme,"  said  Harry,  "what  is  all  this  about?  It  seems  to 
me  Hose  ought  to  have  had  enough  of  her  little  friend  l)v  this 
time.  AVhat  freak  is  this  she  has  taken  al)out  the  countiy, 
and  a  change  of  air,  and  nonsense  ?  " 

"If  it  is  a  freak,  it  is  mine."  said  (iraonio,  quietly.  "  Roso 
needs  a  change.  She  is  not  ill,  Imt  still  she  is  not  quite  well, 
and  I  am  very  glad  she  is  to  go  with  Miss  (ioldsmith." 

*•  A  change,"  repeated  Harry.  "  Why  could  she  not  go 
with  Fanny  to  the  seaside,  if  she  needs  a  change  ?  " 

"  But  Fanny  is  not  going  for  several  weeks  yet.  Rose  will 
be  home  before  tuat  time.  She  will  not  be  away  more  than  a 
fortnight,  I  hope." 

"  A  fortnight,  indeed!  What  has  the  time  to  do  with  it  ?  It 
is  the  going  at  all  that  is  so  foolish.   Tou  astonishrae,  Graeme." 

"  You  astonish  me,  HaiTj'  I  R' ally  I  cannot  understand 
why  you  should  care  so  much  about  it." 

"  Well,  well !  If  you  are  pleased,  and  she  is  pleased,  I  need 
not  trouble  myself  about  it,"  said  Harry,  sulkily. 

"  What  has  happened  to  you,  Harry  ?  "  said  Fauny.  "  You 
are  not  like  yourself,  to-night." 

"  He  is  a  great  deal  more  hke  the  Hariy  of  old  times,"  said 
Graeme.  "  Like  the  Harry  you  used  to  know  long  ago,  IMr, 
Millar,  than  Uke  the  reasonable,  dignified  person  we  have  had 
among  us  lately." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  so,"  said  Mr.  IMillar. 

"  Why  should  not  Rosie  go  ?  "  pers'tsi  od  Fanny.  "  I  think  it 
must  be  a  very  stupid  place,  from  all  tb;'.t  Etta  says  ;  still,  if 
Rose  wishes  it,  why  should  she  not  yp  ? " 

"  I  believe  it  is  the  big  brother  Harry  is  afraid  of,"  said 
Arthur,  laughing.     Graeme  and  Fanny  laughed,  too. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  laughing  matter,"  growled  Hany. 
"  How  would  you  hke  it  if  she  were  to  throw  herself  away  on 
that  red-headed  giant  ?  " 


JANET  6   LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


507 


pleasure, 
as  a  littlo 
acnio  (lls- 
ininiitcs. 
,  secma  to 
atl  In-  this 
3  conntiy, 

f.     *'  Rose 

quite  well, 

th." 

lie  not  go 

Rose  will 
aore  than  a 

with  it?  It 
D,  Graeme." 
imcTcrstancl 

ased,  I  need 


hniy. 


"You 


Itimes,"  said 
i\g  ago,  Mr. 
^e  have  had 


"I  think  it 
|ys  ;  still,  if 

Id  of,"  said 

too. 

rled  Harry. 

|clf  away  on 


Arthur  and  Faniiy  langheil,  still,  but  Crraemo  looked  grave. 

*'  It  would  be  just  like  a  silly  girl  Ukc  Rose,"  continued 
HaiTv,  gloomily. 

"  Hiu-ry,"  said  Graeme,  "  I  think  you  are  forgetting  what  is 
due  to  your  sister.  You  should  be  the  last  person  to  couple 
Rose's  name  with  that  of  any  gentleman." 

"  Of  course,  it  is  only  n  i  iiong  ourselves  ;  and,  I  tell  you, 
Graeme,  you  are  spoihng  Rosie— " 

"  Harry !  bo  quiet.  I  dont  choose  toJisten  to  you  on  that 
suliject." 

"  I  declare,  Hariy,  you  are  getting  morbid  on  the  subject 
of  Rosie's  conquests.  It  is  the  greatest  folly  imaginable," 
said  Arthur. 

"  Well,  it  may  be  so.  At  anjTate,  I  shall  say  no  more. 
Are  you  coming,  Charhe?     I  must  go." 

He  w'ent  to  tlie  foot  of  the  stau's,  and  called: 

"  Rose,  are  you  coming  down  again  ?    I  nnist  go." 

Rose  came  flying  down. 

"  3Iust  you  go,  HaiTy  1  I  am  just  done  with  what  I  need- 
ed to  do.  Don't  be  cross  with  mo,  Harrv\"  And  greatly  to 
his  surprise,  as  she  put  lier  arms  around  liis  neck,  ho  felt  her 
tears  upon  his  check. 

"Why,  Rosie,  what  ails  you?  I  didn't  mean  to  bo  cross, 
Rosie,  my  darling." 

But,  in  a  minute.  Rose  was  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"Rosie,  dear,"  whispered  her  brother,  "  you  are  a  very  silly 
littlo  girl.  I  thmk  you  are  the  very  silliest  giii  I  know.  I 
wish—" 

Rose  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Hany.  I  will  come  in  immediately  ;  and 
please  don't  tell  Graeme  that  I  am  so  silly.  She  wound  n't 
like  it  at  all." 

*'  Graeme  is  as  silly  as  you  are,"  growled  Harry. 

Rose  laughed,  and  ran  up  stairs,  but  came  down  in  a  min- 
ute with  Miss  Goldsmith.  Hai'ry  had  brought  a  great  paper 
of  sweets  for  the  little  sisters  at  home,  for  which  Etta  thauk- 
od  liim  very  prettily,  and  then  she  said  : 


^1 

i 


l::.i 


hi     '    : 


III 


m 


508 


Janet's  lovI':  and  service. 


"I  hope  you  arc  not  afi'.aid  to  trust  Eoso  with  us?  We  will 
take  great  care  of  her,  I  assure  you. " 

"  Since  I  am  too  sillv  to  take  care  of  mvsclf,"  said  Rose. 

They  had  a  pleasant  evening  enough,  all  things  consider- 
ed, and  it  was  some  time  before  Hany  and  his  friend  went 
awav. 

"  1  must  say  good-bye  for  a  long  time,  Miss  Rose,"  said  Mr. 
Millar.  "  I  shall  have  sailed  before  you  are  homo  again,  I 
suppose." 

"  You  go  in  the  first  steamer,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  not  quite  sure  yet.  I  have  not  quite 
decided. " 

"  Of  course,  he  goes  by  the  first  steamer,"  said  Hariy. 
"  He  should  have  gone  long  ago.  There  is  no  use  dwelling 
longer  over  so  simple  a  matter." 

Rose  opened  her  eyes  very  wide. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  speak  to  your  fiiend  and  partner  ?  " 
said  Fanny. 

"  Really,  Harry,  I  am  afraid  yoiu*  fine  temper  is  being 
spoiled,"  said  Rose.  "I  tliink  IMr.  Millar  is  very  good  not 
to  mind  you." 

"  I  understand  Harry,"  said  his  friend. 

"You  don't  understand  yourself,  nor  what  is  good  for 
you.     Good-bye,  dear,  silly,  httle  Rose." 

"  Good-bye,  Hany.     Don't  be  cross." 

"  Rose,"  said  Graeme,  when  they  were  up  stairs  alone  for 
the  night,  "  I  think  it  is  the  big  brother  that  put  Harry  out 
of  temper  to-night."    Rose  laughed. 

"  He  seems  quite  afraid  of  him,"  continued  Graeme. 

"  And  you  ai'e  a  little  bit  afraid  of  him,  too,  Graeme,  or 
you  never  would  have  told  me  about  Harry." 

"  No.     But  I  am  just  a  httle  afraid  for  him." 

"  You  need  not  be.  Harry  thinks  my  desire  for  admira- 
tion insatiable,  I  know,  but  it  is  too  bad  of  you,  Graeme,  to 
hitimate  as  much.  I  have  a  groat  mind  to  tell  you  a  secret, 
Graame.  But  you  must  promise  not  to  tell  it  again  ;  at  lo.ist, 
not  yet." 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SKIiVICH. 


509 


?  WewiU 

(1  Rose. 
1  consider- 
ricnd  went 

/'said  Mr. 
ic  again,  I 


e  not  quite 

aid  Hariy. 
se  dwelling 


I  partner  ?  " 

or  is  being 
y  good  not 


is  good  for 


irs  alone  for 
Harry  out 

lemc. 

I  Graeme,  or 


I  for  adniira- 
iGraonie,  to 
lou  a  secret, 
Lin  ;  at  lo  ist, 


"  Well,"  said  Graeme. 

"  If  I  should  stay  away  longer  than  I  mean  to  do  at  present, 
and  Harry  should  get  very  unhappy  about  me,  perhaps  you 
might  tell  him.  Harry  thinks  I  cannot  manage  my  oNvn 
affau's,"  added  Kose,  a  vivid  color  rishig  on  her  cheeks.  "  And 
he  has  a  mind  to  help  me.  He  has  not  heljied  me  much, 
yet.     Ah !  well,  there  is  no  use  going  over  aU  that." 

"  What  is  the  secret  you  are  going  to  tell  me  ? '"  asked 
Graeme. 

"  I  don't  Imow^  whether  I  ought  to  tell.  But  it  will  be  safe 
with  5'ou.     Graeme,  the  big  doctor  is  engaged." 

"  Well,"  said  Gi-acme. 

"  It  is  not  all  smooth  saihng,  yet.  I  am  afraid  it  may  inter- 
fere somewhat  with  his  success  in  retrieving  the  fortunes  of 
the  family,  as  Etta  has  alwaj^s  been  hoping  he  might  do.  But 
she  is  quite  pleased  for  all  that,  poor,  dear,  httle  thing.  See 
that  you  don't  tell  Harry." 

*'  Well,  is  that  all  you  have  to  say  on  the  subject  ?  "  asked 
her  sister. 

"  Graeme !  I  do  believe  you  are  as  bad  as  Harrj'.  Do  you 
fancy  that  it  is  I  to  whom  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  engaged?  By 
no  means.  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  foolish  affair  ;  but  it  may  fall 
through  yet.  She  is  a  young  widow,  and  has  two  children, 
and  a  httle  money.  No.  It  is  very  foolish  of  Hairy  to  fancy 
things.  He  is  very  stupid,  I  think.  But  you  are  not  to  tell 
him,  because,  reaUy,  the  secret  is  not  mine,  and  besides,  I 
h.ive  another  reason.  Good-night,  dear." 
'  And  so  they  went  away  in  t}ic  moniing.  Rose's  visit  to 
the  country  was  quite  as  agi'ccal)le  as  had  been  ]\Iiss  Gold- 
smith's to  the  tovvn,  judging  from  the  time  she  stayed  there, 
and  from  the  letters  she  sent  home.  The  countiy  wt  lovely^ 
and  she  wondered  any  one  would  live  in  tli-j  city  w  i  •  «uld 
leave  it.  She  kept  a  journal  for  Graeme,  and  it  was  filled 
with  accounts  of  rides,  and  drives,  and  sails  ;  with,  now  and 
then,  hints  of  work  done,  books  read,  of  children's  h.'ssons,  and 
torn  frocks,  of  hay-making,  and  butter-making  ;  and  if 
Graeme  had  any  misgiving  as  to  tiic  perfect  enjoyment  of 


610 


Janet's  lovk  and  service. 


lior  sister,  it  could  not  have  been  her  letters  that  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it. 

At  last  there  came  word  of  an  expedition  to  be  nndci-talceu 
to  a  lake  far-away  in  the  woods,  where  there  \\ere  pond-lilio.s 
and  lake  trout  in  abundance.  They  were  to  can-y  a  tent, 
and  be  out  one  night,  perhaps  two,  and  Mr.  and  ^Ii'.s.  G  Id- 
smith  were  going  with  them,  and  all  the  -hildren  as  v.cll. 
This  was  tlie  last  letter.  Rose  herself  came  soon  after,  to 
find  a  very  quiet  house,  indeed.  Fanny  and  her  son  had 
gone  to  the  seaside,  whither  Graeme  and  Rose,  perhaps,  rai;jht 
go,  later.  Mr.  IVIillar  had  gone,  too,  not  by  tlie  first  steamer, 
nor  by  the  second,  however.  If  Rose  had  been  home  two 
days  sooner,  she  might  have  seen  him  before  he  went,  Hany 
told  her  ;  and  Rose  said,  "  AVhat  a  pity  !  If  I  luid  only  known. 
I  could  so  casilj'  have  come !  "  That  was  all. 

How  quiet  the  house  was  durin;*-  those  long  summer  days ! 
It  was  like  the  coming  again  of  the  old  time,  when  they  and 
Nellv  used  to  have  the  house  ui  the  warden  to  thi^-mwlvos, 
with  only  AVill.  coiviing  and  going,  till  night  brought  the 
brothers  home. 

"  What  happy,  happy  days  they  were  ! ''  said  Rose,  with  a 
sigh. 

"They  were  happy  days,"  said  Graeme.  "Vcrv-  happy 
days." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  rcgi'etfid  echo  in  her  sister's 
voice,  nor  did  she  take  her  to  task  for  tlie  itUe  hands  that  lav 
folded  on  her  lap,  nor  disturb  by  word  or  look  the  times  of 
silent  niiising,  that  grew  longer  and  more  frequent  as  those 
uneventful  days  passed  on.  What  was  to  be  said  ?  The 
doubts  and  fears  that  had  made  her  unhappy  in  the  spring, 
and  even  before  the  spring,  were  coming  back  again.  Rose 
was  not  at  peace  with  herself,  nothing  was  easier  io  lie  seen 
than  that ;  but  whether  the  struggle  was  with  pride,  or  anger, 
or  disappouitment,  or  whether  all  these  and  something  more 
had  to  do  with  it,  she  could  only  wait  till  time,  or  chance,  or 
Rose  of  her  own  free  will,  should  tell. 

For  Graeme  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  of  the  trouble 


had  any- 

ndci'talveu 
pond-lilios 
•y  a  tent, 
iirs.  G  kl- 
1  as  v.dl. 
I  after,  to 
r  son  had 
aps,  rai;^ht 
it  steamer, 
home  two 
?nt,  Hany 
aly  known.  , 

imcr  days ! 
n  they  and 
;h'^'rawlves, 
roJight  the 

i«c,  with  a 

crj-  h.appy 

i(  r  sister's 
Is  that  lav 
'i  times  of 
t  as  those 
laid?  The 
|hc  spring, 
un.  Rose 
to  he  seen 
1'.  or  anger, 
hing  wore 
?hanco,  or 

Lhe  trouble 


JAN'KT  S    I.OVi;    AND    8ERVICT:. 


511 


W'hich  her  sister,  sad  and  preoccupied,  in  so  many  nameless 
wavs  bctrav(Hl.  8ho  would  not  even  seem  to  see  it,  and  so 
strove  to  midvc  it  appear  that  it  was  her  own  industry,  her 
oocupatiou  with  hook,  or  pen,  or  nce.lle,  that  made  the  si- 
lence Ijotweon  them,  on  tliose  days  when  Rose  sat  listless  or 
brooding,  heedless  of  buoks,  or  work,  or  of  whatever  the 
day  might  bring.  And  wheL  the  lit  of  gloom  wore  over,  or 
when,  startled  by  some  sudden  fear  of  being  obseiTed,  she 
roused  herscdf,  and  came  back  with  an  effort  to  the  things 
about  her,  GrdoniG  was  always  ready,  yet  not  too  eager,  to 
make  the  most  of  excuses.  Either  the  heat  made  her  lan- 
guid, or  the  rain  made  her  duU,  or  the  yesterday's  walk  had 
been  oJiausting  ;  and  Graeme  would  assent,  and  warn  or 
reprove,  as  tlio  caso  sbouied  to  require,  never  intimating,  by 
word  or  look,  how  clc  arly  she  saw  through  it  all,  and  how 
she  grieved  and  suffered  v\ith  her. 

And,  when  seized  upon  by  restlessness  or  impatience,  she 
gi'ew  imt:ibl'j  and  exticting,  and  ''  HI  to  do  with,"  as  Janet 
would  have  said,  Graeme  stood  between  her  and  the  wonder 
and  indignation  of  her  brothers,  and,  whicli  was  harder  to 
do,  shielded  her  from  licr  own  anger  and  self-contempt,  when 
she  came  to  lierse)^  again.  She  went  out  with  her  for  long 
walks,  and  did  what  was  lander  still,  she  let  her  go  by  her- 
self, to  rest  hor  mind  by  tiring  out  her  body,  at  times  when 
the  fever  lit  was  on  her,  making  her  fi'et  and  chafe  at  trifles 
that  would  have  made  her  laugh  if  all  had  been  well  ^vith 
hev 

It  was  an  anxious  time  to  Graeme.  When  their  brothers 
were  vitli  them,  Rose  was  litlle  different  fi'om  the  R()^;e  of 
old,  .ih  r.-r  PS  they  could  see  ;  and,  at  such  timo-^,  (nen  Graeme 
"woulu  '.':  begiiiled  into  a  momentary  belief  that  she  had 
been  letting  her  f(>  :'^  speak,  when  there  was  little  Ciiuse. 
But  another  day  would  come,  bringing  the  old  listlessness  tn* 
restlessness,  and  Graeme  could  only  watch  and  wait  for  the 
moment  when  a  cheerfLd  word,  or  a  chiding  one,  might  be 
spoken  for  her  si-.ter's  good,  or  a  movement  of  some  kind 
oiade  to  beguile  her  into  occupation  or  pleasure  for  a  littlo 


i 


X"^ 


^612 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


i  ,i 


mm 


while.  But,  through  all  her  watching,  aucl  waitiiig,  and 
anxiety,  Graeme  spoke  no  word  that  might  betray  to  her 
sister  her  knowledge  that  sometliing  was  amiss  with  her. 

For,  indeed,  Avhat  could  she  say?  Even  in  her  secret 
thoughts  she  had  shrunk  from  looking  too  closely  on  the 
cloud  of  trouble  that  had  fallen  on  the  hfe  of  hor  young 
sister.  Was  it  nnsundersta,nding,  or  wounded  pride,  or  dis- 
appointment ?  Or  was  it  something  which  time  and  change 
might  not  so  easily  or  so  soirely  dispel  ?  There  were  no 
words  to  be  spoken,  however  it  might  be.  That  was  plain 
enough,  Graeme  said  to  herself,  remembering  some  years  of 
her  own  experience,  and  the  silent  Hfe  she  had  lived  unsus- 
pected among  them  all. 

Not  that  any  sii  h  trouble  as  had  bo  fallen  her,  had  come 
upon  Rose.  That  i  "  over  for  a  moment  to  be  beheved. 
Nothing  that  had  1  J-l  w  d  to  Ease,  or  was  like  to  happen, 
ct^ild  so  change  life  to  hej;  as  hers  had  been  changctL  liose 
was  wiser  and  stronger  than  she  had  been,  and  she  was 
younger,  too,  and,  perhaps,  as  Janet  had  said,  "  of  a  hghter 
nature."  Gmeme  comforted  herself  thus,  saying  to  herself 
that  the  cloud  would  pass  away  ;  and  she  waited  and  watch- 
ed, and  cared  for  her,  and  soothed  or  eluded,  or  sliielded  her 
still.  She  did  all  this  sorrowfully  enough  at  thuos,  yet  hope- 
fully, too,  for  she  kiiew  that  w^hatevcr  the  troubl:"  might  be 
that,  for  the  present,  made  the  summer  days  a  weariness  to 
the  desponding  girl,  it  would  pass  away  ;  and  so  she  waited, 
and  had  patience,  and  prayed  that,  out  of  it  all,  she  might 
come  wiser  and  stronger,  and  more  fitted  for  the  work  that 
was  awaiting  her  somewhere  in  the  world. 

"  Graeme,"  said  her  sister,  one  day  when  they  had  been 
sitting  for  a  long  time  silent  togetlier,  "  suppose  we  were  to 
go  and  see  Norman  and  Hilda  this  fall,  instead  of  in  the 
spring,  as  they  propose." 

"  Would  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  Graeme,  a  little  surprised. 

"  Yes.  For  some  things  I  would  like  it ;"  and  Graeme  fancied 
there  was  suppressed  eagerness  in  her  manner.  "It  is  a 
better  season  to  go,  for  one  thing — a  better  season  for  health, 


f  I 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


613 


I  mean.     One  bears  the  change  of  chmate  better,  they  say." 

"  But  you  have  been  here  so  short  a  time.  What  would 
Arthur  say,  and  Fanny?  It  would  look  as  if  you  only 
thought  yourself  a  visitor  here — as  if  your  home  was  with 
Norman." 

Rose  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Well!  neither  Ai-thur  nor  Fanny  would  be  inconsolable. 
The  chances  are  it  may  be  my  home.  It  is  worth  taking  into 
consideration.  Indeed,  I  have  been  considering  the  matter 
for  some  time  past." 

"Nonsense!  Don't  talk  foolishly.  Rose.  It  is  not  long 
since  j'ou  wished  me  to  promise  that  we  should  always  re- 
main together,  and  I  have  no  thought  of  goin'^  W^est  to  stay 
very  long." 

"And  why  not?  I  am  sure  Norman  has  a  right  to 
grumble  at  our  being  here  so  long." 

"Not  at  you,  Rosio." 

"  No.  Not  at  me.  And,  besides,  I  was  not  thinking  of 
Norman,  altogether.  I  was  thinking  of  making  a  home  for 
myself  out  there.     Why  not  ?  " 

Graeme  looked  up,  a  little  startled. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Rose." 

Rose  laughed. 

"  No,  you  don't.  But  you  think  you  do.  Of  course,  there 
is  only  one  way  in  which  a  woman  can  have  a  home  according 
to  the  generally  received  opinion.  It  must  be  made  for  her. 
But  one  might  fancy  you  should  be  beyond  that  by  this 
time,  Graeme,"  added  Rose,  a  little  scornfully. 

Graeme  said  nothing,  and  Rose  went  on. 

"  It  would  not  be  easy  here,  I  know  ;  but  out  thero  you 
and  I  could  make  a  home  to  ourselves,  and  be  independent, 
and  have  a  life  of  oiu"  own.  It  is  so  diflferent  there.  You 
ought  to  go  there  just  to  understand  how  very  different  it 
is." 

"  If  we  needed  a  home,"  said  Graeme.  "  But,  Rose,  I  am 
content  with  the  home  we  have." 

"  Content ! "  repeated  Rose,  impatiently.     "  Thero  is  surely 
22* 


614 


JANET  S    LOVE   AXD   SERVICE. 


«< 


something  better  than  content  to  be  looked  for  in  the  world;" 
and  she  rose  and  Wiilked  about  the  room. 

"Content  is  a  very  good  thing  to  have,"  said  Graeme, 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  if  one  could  have  it.  But  now,  Graeme,  do  tell  mo 
what  is  the  good  of  such  a  hfc  as  we  are  living  now  ? — as  I 
am  living,  I  ought  to  say.  Your  hfc  and  work  are  worth  a 
great  deal  to  the  rest  of  us  ;  though  you  must  lot  me  say  I 
often  wonder  it  contents  you.  Think  of  it,  Graeme !  What 
does  it  all  amount  to,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  mean  ?  A 
little  working,  and  reading,  and  music  ;  a  httlc  visiting  and 
housekeeping,  if  Fanny  bo  propitious — coming,  and 


going. 


and  smiling,  and  making  believe  enjoy  it,  when  one  feels 
ready  to  fly.     I  am  sick  of  the  thought  of  it  all." 

Graeme  did  not  answer  her.  She  was  thmking  of  the  time 
when  she  had  been  as  impatient  of  her  daily  life  as  this,  and 
of  how  powerless  words,  belter  than  she  could  hope  to  sj)eak, 
had  been  to  help  her  ;  and  though  she  smiled  and  shook  her 
head  at  the  youac,  giii's  impetuous  protest  agamst  the  use- 
lessness  of  her  life,  her  eyes,  quite  unconsciously,  met  her 
sister's  with  a  look  of  wistful  pity,  that  Rose,  in  her  youthful 
impatience  and  jealousy,  was  quick  to  resent. 

"Of  course,  the  rest  would  make  an  outcry  and  raise 
obstacles — that  is,  if  they  were  to  bo  consulted  at  all,"  she 
went  on.  But  you  ought  to  know  liettor,  Graeme,"  added 
she,  in  a  v(5ice  that  she  made  sharp,  so  that  her  sister  need 
not  know  that  it  was  very  near  being  tearful. 

"  But,  Rose,  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what  it  is  you  would 
do,  if  you  could  have  your  own  way.  And  what  do  you 
mean  by  having  a  life  of  your  own,  and  being  independent  ? 
Have  you  any  plan  ?" 

Rose  sat  down,  with  a  little  sigh  of  impatience. 

"  There  is  surely  something  that  we  could  do,  you  and  I 
together.     I  can  have  no  plan,  you  kn :)W  quite  well ;  but  you 

might '  „ip  me,  instead  of "    Listead  of  laughing  at  me, 

she  was  going  to  say,  but  she  stopped,  for  though  Graeme's 
lips  were  smiling,  her  eyes  had  a  shadow  in  them  that  looked 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


515 


lie  world;" 
1  Graeme, 

do  tell  mo 
ow? — as  I 
re  worth  a 
't  me  say  I 
lie !  What 
mean  ?  A 
isiting  and 
and  going, 
I  one  feels 

of  the  time 
as  this,  and 
oe  to  speak, 
1  shook  her 
ist  the  use- 
ly,  met  her 
.er  youthful 

and  raise 
[it  all,"  she 
me,"  added 
sister  need 

you  would 
lat  do  you 
[ependent  ? 


you  and  I 
[1 ;  but  you 

ling  at  me, 

Graeme's 

Ihat  looked 


like  coming  tears  ;  and  the  gazo,  that  seemed  resting  on  the 
pi(!tarc  on  the  wall,  went  farther,  lioseknew  ;  bul  whether  into 
the  past  or  the  futm'c,  or  whether  it  was  searclmig  hito  the  rea- 
son of  this  new  eagerness  of  hers  to  be  awav  and  at  \\ork,  she 
could  not  tell.  However  it  might  be,  it  vexed  and  fretted 
her,  and  she  showed  it  by  sudden  impatient  n-ovements, 
which  recalled  her  sister's  thoughts. 

"  What  is  it,  Hose  ?  I  am  afraid  I  was  thinkmg  about 
something  else.  I  don't  think  I  quite  mider stand  what  you 
were  saying  last,"  said  Graeme,  taking  up  her  work  as  a  safe 
thing  on  which  to  fix  licr  eyes. 

"  For  I  must  not  let  her  see  that  I  know  there  must  be  a 
cause  for  this  sudden  wish  for  a  new  life,"  said  she  to  her- 
self. If  she  had  done  what  she  longed  to  do,  she  would 
have  taken  the  impatient,  troubled  child  in  her  arms,  and 
whispered,  as  Janet  had  whispered  to  her  thiit  night,  so  long 
agt^  that  the  restless  fever  of  her  heart  would  pass  away;  she 
would  have  soothed  and  comforted  her,  with  tender  words, 
as  Janet  had  not  dared  to  do.  She  would  1  ave  bidden  her 
wait,  and  have  patience  with  herself  and  her  life,  till  this 
cloud  passed  by — this  light  cloud  of  her  summer  morn- 
ing, that  was  only  mist  to  make  the  rising  day  more  beauti- 
ful, and  not  the  sign  of  storm  and  loss,  as  it  looked  to  her 
young,  afli'ighted  eyes. 

But  this  she  could  not  do.  Even  with  certain  knowledge 
of  the  troubles  which  she  only  guessed,  she  knew  it  would  be 
vain  to  come  to  her  with  tender,  pitying  words,  and  worse 
than  vain  to  try  to  prove  that  nothing  had  happened  to  her, 
or  was  lili;e  to  happen,  that  could  make  the  brealdng  up  of  her 
old  hfe,  and  the  beginning  of  a  new  one,  a  thing  to  be  thought 
of  by  herself  or  those  who  loved  her.  So,  after  a  few  stitches 
carefully  taken,  for  all  her  sister  could  see,  she  said, 

"  And,  then,  there  are  so  few  things  that  a  woman  can  do," 

The  words  brought  back  so  vividly  that  night  in  the  dark, 
when  she  had  said  them  out  of  a  sore  heart  to  her  friend, 
that  her  work  fell  on  her  lap  again,  and  she  mot  her  sister's 
eye  with  a  look  that  Rose  could  not  understand. 


I- 


510 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


IW': 


"  You  arc  not  thinking  of  ^vlult  I  have  been  saving.  "Why 
do  you  look  at  nie  in  tliat  strange  v\ay'?"  said  she,  pittislily. 

"  I  am  tliinkijig  of  it,  indued.  And  I  did  not  Icnow  that  I 
was  looking  any  other  than  my  usual  way.  I  was  saying  to 
myself,  *  lias  the  poor  child  got  to  go  through  all  that  for 
herself,  as  I  have  done  ?'  Oh !  Eosie,  dear !  if  I  could  only 
give  you  the  benefit  of  all  my  vexed  thoughts  on  that  very 
subject !" 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  That  is  just  w  hat  I  want.  Only,  don't 
begin  in  that  discom-aging  way,  about  there  being  so  few 
things  a  woman  can  do.     I  know  all  that,  already." 

"  We  might  go  to  Normin  for  a  while  together,  at  an}'  rate," 
said  Graeme,  feeling  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  satisfy  one 
another  by  what  might  be  said,  since  all  could  not  be  spoken 
between  them. 

"  Yes.  That  is  just  what  I  said,  at  first.  And  we  coald 
see  about  it  there.  We  could  much  more  easily  make  oiu* 
plans,  and  carry  them  out  there,  than  here.  And,  in  the 
meantime,  we  could  find  plenty  to  do  in  Hilda's  house  with 
the  children  and  all  the  rest.     I  wish  we  could  go  soon." 

And  then  she  went  over  what  she  had  often  gone  over  be- 
fore, the  way  of  hfe  in  thoii'  brother  Norman's  house — Hilda's 
housekeeping,  and  her  way  with  her  children,  and  in  society, 
and  so  on,  Graeme  askmg  questions,  and  making  remarks, 
in  the  hope  that  the  conversation  might  not,  for  this  time, 
come  back  to  the  vexed  question,  of  what  women  may  do  in 
the  world.  It  grew  dark  in  the  meantime,  but  they  were 
waiting  for  Hairy  and  lettei*s,  and  made  no  movement ;  and, 
by  and  by,  Rose  said,  suddenly: 

"  I  am  sui'e  you  used  to  think  about  all  tliis,  Graeme — 
about  woman's  work,  and  how  stupid  it  is  to  hve  on  in  this 
way,  'waiting  at  the  pool,'  as  Hannah  Lovejoy  used  to  say. 
I  declare,  it  is  undignified,  and  puts  thoughts  into  people's 

heads,  as  though .  It  would  bo  different,  if  we  were  living 

in  our  father's  house,  or,  even,  if  we  had  money  of  our  own. 
You  used  to  think  so,  yourself,  Graeme.  Wliy  should  Arthur 
and  Harry  do  everytliing  for  us  ?" 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


H7 


ring.  AVhy 
,  pt  ttislily. 
iniow  that  I 
LS  saying  to 
all  that  for 
[  could  only 
n  that  very 

Only,  don't 
cing  so  few 

y-" 

at  any  rate," 
;o  satisfy  one 
Dt  be  spoken 

lid  we  could 
ly  make  our 
And,  in  the 

,s  house  with 

I  >> 

">  soon. 

;one  over  be- 

Lise — Hilda's 

d  in  society, 

g  remarks, 

or  this  time, 

n  may  do  in 

it  they  were 

ment  ;  and, 


I,  Graeme — 

e  on  in  this 

iscd  to  say. 

to  people's 

were  li\ing 

if  our  own. 

lould  Arthur 


"  Yes,  I  remember.  AVhcn  Fanny  first  oiimo,  I  think  I  had 
as  many  thouglits  about  all  this  as  you  have  now.  I  was 
very  restless,  and  discontented,  and  determined  to  go  away. 
I  talked  to  Janet  about  it  one  night." 

"  And  she  convinced  you  that  you  were  all  wrong,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Rose.     "  And  you  were  content  ever  after." 

"No.  I  don't  tliink  she  helped  me  mucli,  at  the  time. 
But  her  gi'eat  doctrine  of  patience  and  quiet  waiting,  and  cir- 
cumstances together,  convinced  me,  afterward,  that  I  did  not 
need  to  go  in  search  of  my  work,  as  seemed  to  me  then  the 
tiling  to  do.  I  found  it  r(>ady  at  my  hand,  though  I  coidd 
not  see  it  then.  Her  wisdom  was  higher  than  mine.  Sho 
said  that  out  of  it  all  would  come  content,  and  so  it  has, " 

"  That  was  not  saying  much !"  said  Rose. 

"  No.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  much,  when  she  said  it.  Bufc 
she  was  right,  all  the  same,  and  I  was  wrong.  And  it  has 
all  happened  much  better  than  if  I  had  got  my  own  way." 

"  But,  Graeme,  all  that  would  not  apply  in  the  case  of 
women,  generally.  That  is  begging  the  question,  as  Harry 
would  say." 

"  But  I  am  not  speaking  of  women  in  general  ;  I  am  speak- 
ing about  myself,  and  my  o-wn  work  ;  and  I  say  Janet  was  ^^•ise, 
though  I  was  far  from  thinking  it  that  night,  as  I  mind  well." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Rose  said,  m  a  low  voice. 

"  It  may  have  been  right  for  you  to  stay  at  home  then,  and 
care  for  the  rest  of  us,  but  it  would  be  quite  difterent  now,  with 
me,  and  I  tliink  with  you,  too.  And  how  many  women  have 
to  go  and  make  a  way  of  life  for  themselves.  And  it  is  right 
that  it  should  be  so  ;  and  (iraeme,  we  might  try." 

Instead  of  answering  her  directly,  Graeme  said,  after  a  lit- 
tle while, 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  Rose,  dear,  about  that  night,  and  all 
that  Janet  said  to  me '?  I  told  her  how  I  wished  to  get  out  of 
my  useless,  unsatisfactory  life,  just  as  you  have  been  telling 
me.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  all  she  said  to  me  ?  I  don't  think  I 
ever  did.  I  felt  then,  just  as  you  do  now.  I  think  I  can  un- 
derstand your  feeHng,  better  than  you  suppose  ;  and  I  open- 


if  '^ 


1..; 


i 


if 
m  I 


518 


jaxet's  love  and  service. 


«< 


0(1  my  heart  to  Junot — I  iiiofin,  I  told  licv  how  sick  I  wnn  of 
it  all,  find  how  f^ood-for-nothinj:?  I  felt  iiij'sclf  to  ])C,  and  how 
it  all  lui^fJit  bo  changed,  if  only  I  could  lind  real  work  to 
do " 

And  Graeme  wont  on  to  tell  much  that  had  l)con  said  be- 
tween them  that  night,  about  woman's  Avork,  and  about  old 
maids,  and  a  little  al>out  the  jiropriety  of  not  setting  one's 
face  agauist  the  manifest  lot  of  woman  ;  and  when  she  came 
to  this  part  of  it,  she  s]:)oko  with  an  attempt  at  playfulness, 
meant  to  covei',  a  little,  the  earnestness  of  all  that  went  be- 
fore. But  neitlier  in  this  nor  in  the  rest,  did  she  speak  as 
though  she  meant  Rose  to  take  the  lesson  to  herself,  or  as 
though  it  meant  veiy  much  to  either  of  them  now  ;  but 
rather  implied  by  her  words  and  manner,  and  by  many  a 
pathetic  touch  here  and  there,  that  she  was  dwelling  on  it 
as  a  pleasant  reminiscence  of  the  dear  old  friend,  whoso 
quaiiit  sayings  were  household  words  among  them,  because 
of  their  wisdom,  and  because  of  the  honor  and  the  love  they 
gave  hor.  Her  earnestness  increased,  as,  by  and  by,  she  sav/ 
the  impatience  pass  out  of  her  sister's  face  and  manner  ; 
and  it  never  came  into  her  mind  that  she  was  turning  back 
a  page  in  her  own  experience,  over  v.'hich  Rose  had  long  ago 
pondered  with  wonder  and  sadness, 

"I  could  not  make  Janet  see  the  necessity  that  seemed  so 
clear  to  me,"  she  went  on.  "  I  could  not  make  her  under- 
stand, or,  at  least,  I  thought  she  could  not  nnderstand,  for 
she  spoke  as  though  she  thought  that  Fanny's  coming,  and 
those  old  vexations,  made  me  v/ish  to  get  away,  and  it  was 
not  easy  to  answer  her  when  she  said  that  mj'  impatience  and 
restlessness  would  all  pass  away,  and  that  I  nuistfallill  papa's 
last  wish,  and  stay  with  the  rest.  I  thought  the  time  had  como 
when  the  necessity  for  that  was  over,  and  that  another  way 
would  be  bettor  for  m",  certainly  ;  and  I  thought  for  Arthur 
and  Fanny,  too,  and  for  you,  Rosie.  But,  Oh  !  how  much  wiser 
Janet  was  than  I,  that  night.  But  I  did  not  think  so  at  the 
time.  I  was  wild  to  be  sot  free  from  the  present,  and  to  have 
my  own  will  and  go  away.     It  was  v/ell  that  circumstances 


f 


JANET  ti    LOVI::   AND   Sl.RVICr!. 


518 


3     4 


Vf\3  of 

d  how 
)rk  to 

iiiil  bc- 
)ut  old 
<jf  one's 
e  cnnic 
fnlnoBH, 
-cut  bc- 
poali  as 
If,  or  as 
w  ;  but 
many  a 
ig  on  it 
,  whose 
because 
Dvo  they 
she  sav/ 
iifinrier  ; 
innr  back 
Long  ago 

nncd  so 
|r  under- 
hand, for 
[ing,  and 
d  it  Avas 
[cncc  and 
A\  papa's 
liad  como 
thcr  Avay 
Arthur 
lic-h  wiser 
50  at  the 
to  have 
Instances 


wore  too  strong  for  mo  It  has  come  true,  rs  Janet  said.  I 
tlihik  it  is  better  for  us  ail  tliat  I  have  Idoom  at  homo  all  these 
years.  Fanny  and  I  have  done  each  other  good.  It  has 
been  better  for  us  jdl." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added, 

"  Of  course,  if  it  had  been  necessary  that  I  should  go  out 
into  the  world,  and  make  my  own  way,  I  might  have  done  as 
others  have  done,  and  won,  at  least,  a  measure  of  success. 
And  so  we  might  still,  you  and  I  together.  Rose,  if  it  were 
necessarj',  but  that  makes  all  the  difference.  There  is  no  ques- 
tion of  necessity  for  us,  dear,  at  present,  and  as  for  God's 
work,  and  work  for  our  fellow  creatures,  we  can  find  that  at 
home.     AVithout  separating  from  the  others,  I  mean." 

Bat  Rose's  face  clouded  agahi. 

"  There  need  bo  no  question  of  separating  fi*om  the  others, 
Graeme.  Norman  is  out  there,  and  there  are  hundreds  of 
women  who  have  Ax  ir  own  place  and  work  in  the  world,  who 
have  not  been  driven  by  necessity  to  look  for  them — the 
necessity  of  making  a  living,  I  moan.  There  arc  other  neces- 
sities that  a  woman  must  feel — somo  more  than  others,  I 
suppose.  It  is  an  idle,  foolish,  vaui  life  that  I  am  hving.  I 
know  that  I  have  not  enough  to  fill  my  life,  Graeme.  I  know 
it,  though  I  don't  suppose  I  can  make  you  understand  it.  I 
am  past  the  age  now  to  care  for  bemg  petted,  and  amused, 
and  made  much  of  by  the  rest  of  you.  I  mean,  I  am  too  old 
now  to  feel  that  enough  for  my  satisfaction.  It  is  different 
with  you,  who  really  arc  good  for  something,  and  who  have 
done  so  much  for  Arthm*  and  Fanny,  and  us  all.  And,  be- 
sides, as  you  say,  you  are  content  ;  but  as  for  me — oh !  I 
know  there  is  no  use  talking.  I  could  never  make  you  under- 
stand.  There,  I  don't  want  to  be  naughty,  and  vex  you — 

and  we  will  say  no  more  to-night.     Shall  I  get  a  light  ?  " 

She  stooped  over  her  sister,  and  kissjd  her,  and  Graeme, 
putting  her  arms  round  her,  said  softly, 

"  Onlv  one  word  more,  Rosic.  I  tin"  ak  I  can  understand 
you  better  than  you  believe,  as  Jar.t  understood  me  that 
night,  though  I  did  not  see  it  then,  and  you  must  just  let  mo 


1" 


«20 


JANET  rt    LOVE   AND   SEIiVICE. 


'J     :1 


say  one  tliin,":.  ]My  durliii,!:^,  I  liclicvo  all  that  is  trouliling 
you,  now,  will  puHS  away  ;  but,  if  I  am  wroiinf,  and  if  it  bo 
best  that  ycju  liavo  your  cnvii  wav  about  this  work  of  vours — 
I  mean,  if  it  is  rij^ht — circumstances  will  arrange  themselves 
to  that  end,  and  it  will  all  come  eas}-  for  you,  and  me,  too. 
Wo  shall  keep  to;,'etlier,  at  any  rate,  and  I  am  not  afraid. 
And,  love,  a  year  or  two  does  make  a  dillerencc  in  people's 
feelings  aljout  tilings,  though  there  is  no  good  in  my  saying  it 
to  you,  now,  I  know.  But  we  will  wait  tiU  "Will,  conies  home. 
We  must  be  here  to  welcome  him,  even  if  his  coming  should 
bo  delayed  longer  than  we  hope  now.  I  don't  like  to  think 
of  any  plan  for  you  and  me,  out  of  which  Will,  must  bo  left. 
And  so  many  things  may  happen  before  a  year  is  over.  I 
remember  how  restless  and  troubled  I  was  at  that  time.  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  it  even  now — and  it  is  all  past — quite 
past.  And  we  will  stay  together,  whatever  hajipcns,  if  we 
can,  and,  darling,  you  must  have  patience." 

All  this  was  said  with  many  a  caressing  pause  between, 
and  then  Rose  said, 

"Well — yes — I  suppose  wo  must  wait  for  Will." 

But  she  did  not  say  it  clieei-fully,  and  Graeme  went  on, 
after  a  Httle : 

"  And,  dear,  I  have  noticed  more  than  onco  in  my  life  that 
when  a  qiiiet  tune  like  this  has  come,  it  has  come  as  a  time 
of  preparation  for  work  of  some  sort  ;  for  the  doing,  or  the 
bearing  of  God's  will  in  some  peculiar  way  ;  and  we  must  not 
lose  the  good  of  these  quiet  days  by  being  anxious  about  the 
future,  or  regretful  over  the  past.  It  will  all  come  right,  love, 
you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  hastily,  for  Han-y's  voice  was 
heard,  and  Rose  went  softly  out  at  one  door,  as  he  came  in  at 
the  other ;  and  when,  in  a  little,  he  called  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  as  he  always  did,  when  he  did  not  find  her  in  the 
parlor,  she  came  down,  affecting  sminise. 

"  So  you  are  here  at  last,  Harry  ?  Are  there  any  letters 
to-night?" 

Yes,  there  were  letters.     Hariy  had  read  his,  and  gave 


r 


JANET'S   LOVK    AND   .SEUVICK. 


r.2i 


uVtling 
£  it  bo 
ours — 
nsolvcs 
lie,  too. 
afraitl. 
people's 

aying  it 
9  home. 
f  slioiiltl 
to  think 
t  be  left, 
over.    I 
time.     I 
it — quite 
as,  if  vre 

between, 


went  on, 

life  tliat 
las  a  time 
IfT,  or  the 
1  must  not 

ibout  the 
|ght,  love, 

Ivoice  was 
ime  in  at 
le  foot  of 
|er  in  the 

ly  letters 

md  gave 


them  the  iiows  witli  a  little  •^n-uinblin,';-,  Avliilo  the  gas  was  Ixv 
iu>^  li;;htc'il.  Ifis  fiicnil  and  piirtncf  sccniod  intent  on  mak- 
ing the  most  of  Lis  long  dilayeil  holiday,  and  was  going  to 
lengthen  it  a  little,  ))y  taking  ;>,  niu  to  Paris,  perlia|)S  even  to 
II 


omo. 


"With  whom  do  you  think,  (Iracme?"  added  he,  his  face 
clearing  up  suddenly.  "With  his  brother  Allan,  and  our 
Will.  Won't  they  helji  one  another  to  have  a  good  time  ? 
Charlie  takes  it  quite  coolly,  however,  I  must  say.  It  was  an 
even  chance,  at  one  tim(},  whether  ho  would  go  at  all,  and 
now,  there  is  no  telling  when  he  will  be  back  again.  That  is 
always  the  way.  I  wonder  when  I  shall  have  my  lioHday  ? 
'The  wiUing  liorsc,'  you  know,  Ilosie." 

"It  is  very  hard  on  you,  HaiiT,  dear.  But  I  fancied  you 
had  a  little  trip  yourself,  lately,  and  enjoyed  it,  too.  Was 
that  in  the  interest  of  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Honi  I  Yes — indirectly.  I  did  enjoy  it.  Fanny  says 
she  has  had  n,  very  pleasant  sunnuer  ;  and,  if  y  lu  arc  going 
down  at  all,  Ilosie,  it  is  time  you  were  going.  They  seem  to 
have  a  very  nice  set  of  people  there.  I  think  if  you  were  to 
go  at  once,  I  would  take  a  riui  down  Avith  you — next  week, 
perhaps.     I  think  you  would  enjoy  it." 

"  I  thank  you,  Harry,  dear.  But,  you  know,  Fanny's  taste 
and  mme  arc  difllu'ent.  I  don't  always  fancy  Jirr  pleasant 
people.  And  I  should  not  think  of  taking  you  away  on  my 
account." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  shall  go,  at  any  rate.  But  I  want  you  to 
go,  Bosio,  for  a  reason  I  have.  ^Vnd  I  promise  you  won't 
regret  it.     I  wish  Graeme  would  go,  too." 

"  It  v.'ould  be  charming  if  v-e  could  aU  go  togotiier,"  said 
Rose.  "  But  it  would  bo  hardly  v>orth  while,  we  could  make 
so  short  a  stay,  now." 

"  I  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  said  Harry.  "'  One  gets  to  laiow 
people  so  much  better  hi  such  a  place,  and  I  am  sure  j'ou 
would  like  the  Koxburys,  Eosic,  if  you  would  only  take  pains 
to  know  them." 

"  My  dear  Hairy !    think  what  you  are  saying !     Would 


*l 


m. 


\-y 


522 


JANETS    LOVK    AND    SKIIVKK. 


m  We 


they  take  pains  to  k'now  mo  ?  Tlicy  avo  Fanny's  nieo  people, 
arc  t]]03'?  Yes,  I  su])posc  so.  However,  I  don't  believo 
Graeme  ■will  care  to  j:^o." 

(h'iicme  uttered  an  exclamation  over  her  letter. 

"It  is  from  IMr.  Snow,"  said  she,  'vvith  a  pale  face. 

"  Bad  news  ?  "  asked  Hiirry. 

It  was  bad  news,  indeed.  It  told,  in  Mr.  Snow's  brief  way, 
tliat,  within  a  few  days,  the  illness,  from  which  his  v>ifo  had 
been  snfferuig  for  some  time,  had  taken  a  dangerous  turn, 
rendeiing  an  operation  necessary  ;  and  the  letter  was  sent  to 
prepare  them  for  a  possible  fdtal  rcsidt. 

"It  givc.^  her  a  cbance,  and  that  is  all  the  doctors  will  say. 
She  says  it  v.ill  be  all  right  whichever  way  it  turns.  God 
bless  you  alL     Euiilv  will  tell  you  more." 

" Plarry,"  said  (Graeme,  as  ho  laid  down  llio  letter.  "I 
must  go  to  Janet." 

"It  would  be  a  comfort  to  her  if  you  coulil,"'  said  Harry, 
gravely. 

"And  to  mo,"  said  Graeme.   "I  shall  go  early  to-morrow." 

Tliero  was  not  much  more  said  about  it.  Tiicre  was  a  little 
discussion  about  tho  trains,  and  tlic  best  way  to  take,  and 
then  Harry  went  away,  Kose  had  ]iot  spoken  a  word  while 
ho  was  there,  but  the  moment  the  door  closed  afier  him,  she 
said,  softly, 

'•'  Hany  does  not  think  that  I  am  going ;  but,  dear,  j-ou 
promised  that,  whatever  happened,  we  should  keep  togotber. 
And,  Graeme,  tho  quiet  time  has  been  to  prepare  you  for 
this  ;  and  wo  are  siu'cit  will  all  be  right,  as  JiU\et  says.  You 
will  let  mo  go  with  you,  Graeme?'  she  pleaded;  "you  will 
never  go  and  leave  mo  here  V" 

So  whatever  Harrv  thought,  Graeme  could  do  nolhing  but 
jield.  and  tho  next  morning  tho  sisters  v.'ore  speeding  south- 
Avard,  with  fear  in  th<>ir  hearts,  but  with  peace  and  hope  in 
them,  also  ;  for  tlu\v  knew,  and.  they  said  to  one  iuiother 
many  tinics  that  day,  that  tho  words  of  tlnir  dear  old  friend 
would  come  true,  and  that  in  wluitever  way  tho  trouble  that 
had  fallen  on  her  might  end,  it  would  bo  fur  her  all  well. 


CO  people, 
I't  bclicvo 


4 


'  if  ' 


i:j 


1  brief  way, 
s  v.ifo  had 
•rous  turn, 
va«  sent  to 

.•;i  -will  say. 
ims.     God 

Letter.     "  I 

aid  Harry, 

p-ni(UTow." 
was  a  little 
talce,  and 
ord  wliile 
liiiii,  she 

dear,  you 
)  to' '•other, 
'e  you  for 
!iys.  You 
"  vou  will 

).liin'Ji'  but 
linq-  soutli- 
d  hope  in 
10  another 
old  friend 
oublo  that 
well. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

SEPTEMBER  was  nearly  over  ;  there  were  tokens  of  the 
coming  Autunni  on  the  hills  and  valleys  of  ^Merlevillt*, 
but  th^  day  was  like  a  day  in  the  prime  of  smnmer,  and  the 
air  f  hao  came  in  tlu'ough  the  open  windows  of  the  soutli  room 
fell  on  IVIrs  Snow's  pale  cheeks  as  mild  and  balmy  as  a  breeze 
of  June.  The  wood-covered  hills  wore  uiifaded  still,  and 
beautiful,  thoug'h  here  and  there  a  crimson  b;miier  waved,  or 
a  pillar  of  gold  rose  up  amid  the  gTccmicss.  Over  among 
the  valleys,  were  sudden,  shifting  sparkles  from  half-hidden 
brooks,  and  the  pond  gleamed  in  the  suns! line  without  a  cloud 
to  dim  its  brightness.  In  the  broken  Holds  tlia,t  sloped  to- 
wards it,  and  in  the  narrow  meadows  tliai  slcirtcd  that  part  of 
the  Merle  river  which  could  be  seen,  there  were  tokens  of  Hfo 
and  busv  labor — dark  stretches  of  no^^lv-turnod  mould  alter- 
nating  with  the  green  of  the  pastures,  or  the  bleached  stubble 
of  the  recent  harvest.  There  were  glimjis'^s  of  the  white 
houses  of  the  village  through  the  trees,  anil,  now  and  then,  a 
ti'aveller  passed  slowly  along  the  winding  road,  but  there  was 
nothing  far  or  near  to  distiu'b  the  sweet  quiet  of  the  scone 
now  so  familiar  a)id  so  dear,  and  Mrs.  Snow  gazed  out  upon  it 
with  a  Fjefiso  of  peace  and  rest  at  her  heart  which  showed  in 
her  quiet  face  and  m  her  folded  hands. 

It  showed  in  ]Mr.  Snow's  face,  too,  as  he  gliuiccd  now  and 
then  ovt^r  the  edge  of  the  newspaper  he  was  holding  in  his 
hand.  Ho  was  reailiiif!",  and  she  was  sniiposcdto  bdist :>iiing, 
to  one  of  the  excellont  articles  which  weekly  enriched  tho 
columns  of  Tlii'  Pt(n'((in,].mt  ihc  look  that  w;;s  coming  and 
going  on  his  wife's  face  was  not  just  tho  look  A\ith  which  she 
waa  wont  to  listen  to  tho  doings  of  the  County  Association  of 


I 


It: 


I 


m 


ff' 


i 


L 


i  ^ 


624 


,TANKT  S   LOVi:   AND   SKRYICK. 


I  ft. 

m 


1 


ministers,  Mr.  Snow  thought,  and,  in  a  little,  he  let  the  paper 
di'op  from  his  liaiid. 

•'Well,  and  how  (hd  tliov  come  on  with  thoir dis'-assions ?" 
said  Mrs.  Snow,  her  attention  recalled  by  the  silence. 

Mr.  Snow  smiled. 

'•  Oh !  pretty  much  so.  Their  discussions  will  Icee;)  a  spell, 
I  guess,"  said  he,  taking  olf  his  spectacles,  and  changing  his 
seat  so  as  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

"It  is  a  bonny  day,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  softl\'. 

"  Yes,  it  is  kind  of  pleasant." 

There  was  nothing  more  said  for  a  long  Ime.  Many 
■words  were  not  needed  between  these  t^vo  by  this  time.  They 
had  been  passing  through  weeks  of  sore  trial ;  the  i  dow 
of  deatli  liad  seemed  to  lie  darkening  over  them,  and,  woi*se 
to  bear  even  than  the  prospect  of  death,  had  been  the  suffer- 
ing which  had  brought  it  near.  Worse  for  her,  for  she  had 
drawn  very  near  to  the  unseen  world — so  near  that  the  glory 
had  been  visible,  and  it  had  cost  her  a  struggle  to  be  willing 
to  come  back  again  ;  and  worse  for  liun,  too,  whose  heart 
had  grown  sick  at  the  sight  of  the  slow,  wearing  pain,  grow- 
ing sharper  cveiy  day. 

But  that  was  past  now.  Veiy  slowly,  but  still  surely, 
health  was  coming  back  to  the  invalid,  and  the  rest  from 
long  pain,  and  the  consciousness  of  returning  strength,  were 
making  the  bright  day  and  the  fair  scene  more  beautiful 
to  her.    As  for  him,  he  could  only  look  at  her  with  thankful 

joy- 

"  I  never  saw  this  bonny  place  bonnier  than  it  is  to<lay, 
and  so  sweet,  and  quiet,  and  homelike.  We  live  in  a  fair 
world,  and,  on  a  day  like  this,  one  is  ready  to  forget  that  there 
is  sin  or  trouble  in  it. " 

"  It  is  good  to  see  you  sittmg  there,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  for 
answer. 

"  Well,  I  am  content  to  be  sitting  here.  I  doubt  I  shall  do 
little  else  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  must  be  a  useless  body, 
I'm  afraid,"  added  she,  with  a  sigh. 

Mr.  Snow  smiled. 


JAXKT  S    LOVE    AND    SEIiVirK. 


525 


the  paper 

•assions : 
e. 

e;)  a  spell, 
luging  his 


le.     Many 
time.  They 
be  1      dow 
and,  woi*se 
the  suffer- 
Dr  she  had 
it  the  glory 
)  be  willing 
rhose  heart 
pain,  grow- 

itUl  surely, 
rest  from 
jngth,  were 
re  beautifpl 
tththanliful 

is  to<lay, 
le  in  a  fair 
it  that  there 

l.  Snow,  for 

It  I  shall  do 
Icless  body, 


"You  know  bettor  than  that,"  said  ho.  "I  don't  suppose 
it  sooms  muf'h  to  you  to  <;ot  l)aclv  aj.^ain  ;  but  it  is  a  gi'oat 
deal  for  the  rest  of  us  to  liavc  you^  if  it  is  only  to  look 
at." 

"I  am  contf.nt  to  bide  my  time,  useless  or  useful,  as  (lod 
wills,"  said  hi ^  wife,  gravely. 

"I  was  willing  you  should  go — yes,  I  do  tliink  I  was  will- 
ing you  should  go.  It  was  the  seeing  you  suffer  that  seemed 
to  take  the  strength  out  of  mo,"  said  he,  with  a  shudder.  "  It 
makes  mo  kind  of  sick  to  think  about  it,"  added  he,  rising 
and  moving  about.  "I  believe  I  was  willing,  but  I  am 
dreadful  glad  to  see  you  sitting  there." 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  here,  since  it  is  God's  will.  It  is  a  won- 
dci*ful  thing  to  stand  on  the  very  brink  of  the  river  of  death, 
and  then  to  turn  back  again.  I  tliink  the  Avorld  can  never 
look  quite  the  s  ime  to  eyes  that  have  looked  beyond  it  to  the 
other  side.  But  I  am  content  to  be  here,  and  to  serve  Him, 
whether  it  bo  by  working  ov  by  waiting." 

"  On  the  very  brink,"  repeated  jMr.  Snow,  musingly. 
"  Well,  it  ilid  look  like  that,  one  while.  I  wonder  if  I  was 
really  willing  to  have  you  go.  It  don't  seem  now  as  if  I 
could  have  been — being  so  glad  as  I  am  that  you  did  not  go, 
and  so  thankfiU." 

"  I  don't  think  the  gladness  coritradicts  the  willingness ; 
and  knowing  you  as  I  do,  and  myself  as  well,  I  wonder  less 
at  the  williuf^iiess  than  at  the  gladness." 

This  needed  further  considcn'ation,  it  seemed,  for  Mr. 
Snow  did  not  answer,  but  sat  musmg,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  distant  hills,  till  INL's.  Snow  spoke  agam. 

"  I  thou'jfht  at  first,  when  the  worst  was  over,  it  was  onlv  a 
respite  from  pain  before  the  end  ;  but,  to-day,  I  feel  as  if 
my  life  was  roally  coming  back  to  me,  and  I  am  more  glad  to 
hve  than  I  have  been  any  day  yet." 

Mr.  Snow  cleared  his  throat  and  nodded  his  head  a 
great  many  times.  It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  speak  at  the 
moment. 

"  If  it  were  only  May,  now,  instead  of  September !     You 


•i 


I 


■ti 


52(3 


J.mKT  A   LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


always  did  lind  our  winters  hard ;  and  it  is  pretty  tough 
being  hived  up  so  many  months  of  the  year.  I  do  dread 
the  winter  for  you." 

"  Maybe  it  winna  ho  so  hard  on  me.  We  must  make  the 
best  of  it  anyway.  I  am  thankful  for  ease  fi*om  pain.  That 
is  much." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  with  the  shudder  that  always  carao 
with  the  remembrance  of  his  wife's  sufferings,  "  thank  God 
for  that.  I  am't  a  going  to  fret  nor  wony  about  the  Avinter, 
if  I  can  help  it.  I  am  going  to  live,  if  I  can,  from  horn*  to 
hour,  and  from  day  to  day,  by  the  grace  that  is  given  mo  ; 
but  if  I  could  fix  it  so  that  Graeme  would  see  it  best  to  stop 
here  a  spell  longer,  I  should  find  it  considerable  easier,  I 
expect." 

"  But  she  has  said  nothing  about  going  away  j'ct,"  said 
Mrs.  Snow,  smiling  at  his  way  of  putting  it.  "  You  must 
take  the  grace  of  her  presence,  day  by  day,  as  you  do  the 
rest,  at  least  till  she  shows  signs  of  departiu*e." 

"  Wc  never  can  toll  how  things  are  going  to  turn,"  said 
Mr.  Snow,  musingly.  "  There  is  that  good  come  out  of  your 
sickness.  They  arc  both  here,  and,  as  far  as  I  see,  they  are 
content  to  be  here.  If  we  could  prevail  on  AVill.  to  see  it  his 
duty  to  Ipok  toward  this  field  of  labor,  now,  I  don't  doubt 
but  we  could  fix  it  so  that  they  should  make  theh  home  hero 
always — right  here  in  this  house,  I  mean — only  it  w^ould  bo 
'most  too  good  a  tiling  to  have  hi  this  world,  I  'm  ah'aid." 

"  "We  must  wait  for  the  leadings  of  Providence,"  said  his 
wife.  "  This  field,  as  you  call  it,  is  no'  at  Will.'s  taking  j^et. 
"What  would  your  friend,  jNIr.  Perry,  thmk  if  he  heard  you  ? 
And  as  for  the  others,  wo  must  not  be  over  anxious  to  keep 
them  beyond  what  tluur  brothers  woukl  like.  But,  as  you 
say,  they  seem  content ;  and  it  is  a  pleasiu'e  to  have  them 
here,  greater  than  I  can  put  in  W'orda  ;  and  I  know  yju  are 
as  pleased  as  I  am,  and  that  doubles  the  pleasm'o  to  me," 
added  Mrs.  Snow,  looking  gratc>fully  toward  her  husband. 
"  It  might  have  been  so  diirerent." 

"  Oh  !  come,  now.     It  ain't  worth  while  to  put  it  in  that 


JANKT  S    LOVE   A2,'D   .SEUVICE. 


)27 


r  tough 

)  dread 

ake  the 
.    That 

ys  came 
nk  God 
I  wmtcr, 
hoiu'  to 
,'en  mo  ; 
t  to  stop 
easier,  I 

et,"  said 
ou  must 
1  do  the 

irn,"  said 
^  of  your 
they  are 
see  it  his 
t  doubt 
nne  here 
ould  bo 
aid." 
said  his 
ig  yet. 
I'd  you? 
to  keep 
as  you 
,ve  thcui 
yju  are 
to  mo," 
lUHbaud. 


m 


that 


way  at  tliis  timu  of  day.  I  don't  know  as  you  \\  allow  it 
exactly  ;  but  I  do  think  they  are  about  asmgh  U)  nic  as  they 
are  to  you.     I  really  do." 

"  That 's  saying  much,  but  I  '11  no'  gainsay  it,"  said  ]Mrs. 
Snow,  smiling.  "  They  arc  good  bahns,  and  a  blessing 
wherever  they  may  go.  But  I  doubt  we  canna  hope  to  keep 
them  very  long  with  us." 

"  It  is  amazing  to  me.  I  can't  seem  to  understand  it,  or 
reconcile  it  to ." 

IMr.  Snow  paused  and  looked  at  his  M'ife  in  the  deprecating 
manner  he  was  wont  to  assume  when  he  was  not  quite  kiu'O 
whether  or  not  she  would  hke  what  he  was  going  to  say,  and 
then  added  : 

"•  Hovrever,  she  don't  woitv  about  it.  She  is  just  as  con- 
tented as  can  be,  and  no  mistake  ;  and  I  rather  seem  to 
remember  that  you  used  to  worry  a  little  about  her  when 
they  were  here  last." 

"About  Miss  Graeme,  was  it?"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  witli  a  smile; 
"  maybe  I  did.  I  was  as  good  at  that  as  at  most  tilings. 
Yes,  she  is  content  with  life,  now.  Gca's  peace  is  m  her 
heart,  and  in  her  life,  too.     I  need  not  have  been  afraid." 

"  llosie  's  sobered  down  some,  don't  you  think  ?"  said  Mr. 
Snow,  with  some  hesitation.  "  She  used  to  be  as  hvely  as  a 
cricket.     ]Maybe  it  is  only  my  notion,  but  she  seems  chirercnt." 

"  She  's  older  and  wiser,  and  she  '11  be  none  the  worse  to 
take  a  soberer  view  of  life  than  she  used  to  do,"  said 
i\Irs.  Snow.  "  I  have  seen  nothinj?  be  vend  wliat  was  to  be 
looked  for  m  the  circmnstanccs.  But  I  have  been  so  full  of 
myself,  and  my  own  troubles  of  late,  I  may  not  have  takeu 
notice.  Her  sister  is  not  anxious  about  her  ;  I  would  have 
seen  that.  The  bami  is  gathering  sense  —  that  is  all,  I 
think." 

•'  Well !  yes.  It  will  be  all  right.  I  don't  suppose  it  will 
be  more  than  a  passing  cloud,  and  I  might  have  known  bet- 
ter than  to  vox  vou  with  it." 

« 

"  Indeed,  you  have  not  vexed  me,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
vox  myself  with  any  such  thought.     It  will  all  coniC  right,  aa 


m 


It 

8 

'If' 


i.,i 


528 


jani:ts  love  and  servick. 


you  say.  I  Lavo  seen  her  sister  in  deeper  water  than  any 
that  can  be  about  her,  and  she  is  on  dry  land  now.  *  And 
hath  set  my  feet  upon  a  roclc,  and  estabhshed  my  goings,'  " 
added  Mrs.  Snow,  softly.  ''  That  is  the  way  with  my  bah-n,  I 
beHeve.  Thank  God.  And  they  '11  both  be  the  better  for 
this  quiet  time,  and  we  '11  take  the  good  of  it  without  wish- 
ing for  more  than  is  wise,  or  setting  our  hearts  on  what  may 
fail.  See,  they  are  coming  down  the  brae  together.  It  is 
good  to  see  them." 

The  first  weeks  of  thcu'  stay  in  Merlevillo  had  been  weeks 
of  gi'oat  anxiet3%  Long  after  a  very  difficult  and  painful 
opcTation  had  been  successfully  performed,  Mrs.  Snow  re- 
mained in  great  danger,  and  the  two  girls  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  duty  of  nursing  and  caring  for  her,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  all  other  thoughts  and  interests.  To  Mr.  Snow  it 
seemed  that  his  wife  had  been  won  back  to  life  by  their  de- 
votion, and  Janet  herself,  when  her  long  swoon  of  exhaus- 
tion and  weakness  was  over,  remembered  that,  even  at  the 
worst  time  of  all,  a  dim  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  her 
darhugs  had  been  with  her,  and  a  wish  to  stay,  for  then* 
sakes,  had  held  her  here,  when  her  soul  seemed  floating  away 
to  unseen  worlds. 

By  a  change,  so  gradual  as  scarcely  to  be  pcrcej^tible,  from 
day  to  day,  she  came  back  to  a  knowledge  of  their  loving 
caro,  and  took  up  the  burden  of  her  life  again.  Not  joyfully, 
perhaps,  having  been  so  near  to  the  attaming  of  heavenly 
joy,  but  still  with  patience  and  content,  wiUuig  to  abide 
God's  time. 

After  tliat  the  days  followed  one  another  quietly  and 
happily,  with  little  to  break  the  pleasant  monotony  beyond 
the  occasional  visits  of  the  neighbors  from  the  village,  or  the 
coming  of  letters  from  home.  To  Graeme  it  was  a  very 
peaceful  time.  AVatching  her  from  daj^  to  day,  her  old  friend 
could  not  but  see  that  she  was  content  with  her  life  and  its 
work,  now  ;  that  whatever  the  sliadov.'  had  been  which  had 
fallen  on  her  earlier  days,  it  had  passed  away,  leaving  around 
her,  not  the  brightness  of  her  youth,  but  a  milder  and  more 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


529 


lan  any 
'And 
oings,' " 
baivn,  I 
3ttcr  for 
)ut  wish- 
hat  may 
i\     It  is 


en  "weeks 
1  painful 
Snow  re- 
lemselves 
the  cxclu- 
.  Snow  it 
r  their  de- 
)f  exhaus- 
en  at  the 
|ice  of  her 
'or  their 
ing  away 

ble,  from 
cir  loving 
joyfully, 
heavenly 
to  abide 

ietly   and 
ly  Ijeyond 
oG,  or  the 
as  a  very 
old  friend 
fe  and  its 
liich  had 
ig  around 
id  more 


enduring  radiance.  Graeme  was,  in  Janet's  eyes,  just  what 
the  daughter  of  her  father  and  mother  ought  to  be.  If  she 
could  have  wished  anything  changed,  it  would  have  been  in 
her  circumstances,  not  in  herself.  She  was  not  satisfied  that 
to  her  should  be  denied  the  higher  happiness  of  being  in  a 
home  of  her  own — the  first  and  dearest  to  some  one  worthy 
of  her  love. 

"  And  yet  who  knows  ?  "  said  she  to  herself.  "  One  can 
never  tell  in  which  road  true  happiness  lies  ;  and  it  is  not  for 
me,  who  can  see  only  a  httle  way,  to  wish  for  anything  that 
God  has  not  given  her.  '  A  contented  mind  is  a  continual 
feast,'  says  the  Bock.  She  has  that.  And  '  Blessed  are  the 
meek,  and  the  merciful,  and  the  pure  in  heart.'  "What  would 
I  have  ?  1 11  make  no  plans,  and  I'll  make  no  wishes.  It  is 
all  in  good  hands,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear  for  her,  I  am 

sure  of  that.    As  for  her  sister .     Well,  I  suppose  there 

will  aye  be  something  in  the  lot  of  those  we  love  to  make  us 
mindful  that  they  need  better  help  than  ours.  And  it  is  too 
far  on  in  the  day  for  me  to  doubt  that  good  guidance  will 
come  to  her  as  to  the  rest." 

Still,  after  her  husband's  words,  Mrs.  Snow  regarded 
Hose's  movements  with  an  earnestness  that  she  was  not  quite 
willing  to  acknowledge  even  to  herself.  It  was  rather  unrea- 
sonable of  him,  she  thought  at  fii'st,  to  be  otherwise  than 
content  with  the  young  girl  in  her  new  sedateness.  She  was 
not  quite  so  merry  and  idle  as  during  her  last  visit ;  but  that 
was  not  surprising,  seeing  she  was  older  and  wiser,  and  more 
sensible  of  the  responsibiUties  that  life  brings  to  all.  It  was 
natural  that  it  should  be  so,  and  well  that  it  should  be  so. 
It  was  matter  for  thankfulness  that  the  years  were  bringing 
her  wisdom,  and  that,  looking  on  hfe  with  serious  eyes,  she 
would  not  exjDect  too  much  fi'om  it,  nor  be  so  bitterly  disap- 
pointed at  its  inevitable  failures.  She  was  quieter  and 
graver,  but  surely  no  fault  was  to  be  found  with  that,  seeing 
there  had  been  sickness  and  anxiety  in  the  house. 

She  was  cheerful  and  busy  too,  TMra.  Snow  saw,  aficoniplish- 
ing  wonderful  things  in  the  way  of  learning  to  do  housework, 
23 


I  ? 


530 


JANKT  8   LOVE   AND   S1':RV1CE. 


'    !■  i 


,.*,, 


lit'.  '    "!■ 


and  dairy  work,  under  the  direction  of  Hannah,  and  comport- 
ing herself  generally  in  a  way  that  was  winning  the  good 
opinion  of  that  experienced  and  rather  exacting  housekeeper. 
She  took  great  interest  in  out-of-door  affairs,  going  daily  with 
the  deacon  to  the  high  sheep  pastui'e,  or  to  the  clearing  be- 
yond the  swamp,  or  wherever  else  his  oversight  of  farming 
matters  led  him,  which  ought  to  have  contented  Mr.  Snow, 
his  wife  thought,  and  which  might  have  done  so  if  he  had 
been  quite  sure  that  her  heart  was  in  it  all. 

By  and  by  Mrs.  Snow  wearied  a  little  for  the  mirthfulness 
and  laughter  that  had  sometimes  needed  to  be  gently  checked 
duriig  her  former  visit.  More  than  once,  too,  she  fancied 
she  saw  a  wistful  look  in  Graeme's  eyes  as  they  followed  her 
sister's  movements,  and  she  had  much  ado  to  keep  from  troub- 
ling herself  about  thcra  both. 

They  were  sitting  one  day  together  in  the  south  room 
which  looked  out  over  the  garden  and  the  orchard  and  the 
pond  beyond.  Kose  was  in  the  garden,  walking  hstlessly  up 
and  down  the  long  paths  between  the  flower-beds,  and  Mrs. 
Snow,  as  she  watched  her,  wondered  within  herself  whether 
this  would  be  a  good  time  to  speak  to  Graeme  about  her 
sister.  Before  she  had  time  to  decide,  however,  they  were 
startled  by  Hannah's  voice  coming  round  the  comer — 

"  Rose,"  it  said,  "  hadn'b  you  just  as  leives  do  your  walking 
right  straight  ahead  ?  'Ciause,  if  you  had,  you  might  take  a 
pitcher  and  go  over  to  Emily's  and  borrow  some  yeast.  I 
don't  calculate,  as  a  general  thing,  to  get  out  of  yeast,  or  any 
thing  else,  but  the  cat 's  been  and  keeled  the  jug  right  down, 
and  spilled  the  last  drop,  and  I  want  a  little  to  set  some  more 
to  rising." 

*'  Hannah,"  said  Rose,  with  a  penitent  face,  "  I  am  afraid 
it  was  my  fault.  I  left  the  jug  on  the  corner  of  the  shelf,  in- 
stead of  putting  it  away  as  I  ought.     I  am  very  soiTy." 

"  Well,  I  thought  pretty  likely  it  might  be  you,  seeing  it 
wasn't  me,"  said  Hannah,  grimly.  "  That  jug  has  held  the 
yeast  in  this  house  since  Grandma  Snow's  time,  and  now  it 's 
broke  to  forty  pieces." 


Janet's  love  and  seuvice. 


531 


omporfc- 
be  good 
3kceper. 
lily  with 
iriiig  be- 
farming 
r.  Snow, 
he  had 

thfulness 
'  checked 
lc  fancied 
owed  her 
am  tronb- 

ath  room 
d  and  the 
jtlessly  up 
and  Mrs. 
whether 
about  her 
they  were 
r — 

ir  walking 
;ht  take  a 
yeast.  I 
,st,  or  any 
rht  down, 
lome  more 

jam  afraid 
shelf,  m- 

I,  seeing  it 
held  the 
now  it 's 


"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !"  said  Rose. 

"  Well,  I  guess  it  don't  matter  a  great  sight.  Nobody  will 
worry  about  it,  if  /  don't,  and  it 's  no  use  crying  over  spilt 
milk.  But  I  guess  you'd  better  toll  Emily  how  it  happened. 
I'd  a  little  rather  what  borrowing  there  is  between  the  two 
houses  should  be  on  t'other  side.  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you, 
only  I  thought  you'd  rather  go  than  not.  That  walking  up 
and  down  is  about  as  shiftless  a  business  as  ever  you  under- 
took.   But  don't  you  go  if  you  don't  want  to." 

Rose  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Oh !  I'll  go,  and  I'll  teU  IVIrs.  Nasmyth  how  it  happened, 
and  that  it  was  my  fault  and  e  cat's.  Mrs.  Snow,"  said  she, 
presenting  herself  at  the  window,  "  did  you  hear  what  Han- 
nah has  been  saying?  I  have  broken  Grandma  Snow's  yeast 
jug  into  forty  pieces,  and  I  am  to  go  and  confess  to  Emily, 
and  get  some  yeast." 

"  I  thought  it  wag  the  cat  that  did  it ;  though,  doubtless,  it 
was  your  fault  not  putting  it  in  its  place.  However,  there  is 
no  great  harm  done,  so  that  you  get  more  yeast  to  Hannah.'* 

"  And  let  Emily  know  that  it  is  my  fault  and  not  Hannah's 
that  more  yeast  is  needed.  Graeme,  will  you  come  and  have 
a  walk  this  bonny  day  ?" 

"You  can  go  and  do  Hannah's  errand,  now,  and  I  will 
stay  with  Mrs.  Snow,  and  we  will  walk  together  later,"  said 
Graeme. 

"  And  you  might  bring  wee  Rosie  home  with  you,  if  Iier 
mother  will  spare  her,  and  if  she  wants  to  come.  But  there 
is  no  doubt  of  her  wishing  to  come  with  you." 

"Is  anything  the  matter  with  your  sister,  that  you  follow 
her  with  such  troubled  e'en?"  asked  Mrs.  Snow,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

"Troubled  e'en!"  repeated  Graeme.  "No,  I  don't  think 
there  is  anything  the  matter  with  her.  Do  you  ?  Why  should 
you  think  there  is  anything  the  matter  with  her,  Janet  ?" 

"  My  dear,  I  was  only  asking  you  ;  and  it  was  because  of 
the  look  that  you  sent  after  her — a  look  that  contradicts  your 
words — a  thing  that  doesna  often  happen  with  you,  be  it  said." 


U! 


hi 


532 


JAXET's    love   and   8ERVICK. 


i 


P     1 


! 


n  r 


"  Did  I  look  troubled  ?  I  don't  think  thcro  is  any  reason 
for  it  on  Hosio's  account — any  that  can  be  told.  I  mean  I 
can  only  guoss  at  any  cause  of  trouble  she  may  have.  Just 
for  a  mmute,  now  and  then,  I  have  felt  a  little  anxious,  per- 
haps ;  but  it  is  not  at  all  because  I  think  there  is  anything 
seriously  wrong  with  Rosie,  or  indeed  anjihing  that  Avill  not 
do  her  good  rather  than  harm.  But  oh,  Janet !  it  is  sad  that 
we  camiot  keep  all  trouble  away  from  those  we  love." 

"  I  canna  agree  with  you,  my  dear.  It  would  bo  ill  dono 
to  keep  anything  from  her  that  wiU  do  her  good  and  not  evil, 
as  you  say  yourself.  But  well  or  ill,  you  canna  do  it,  and  it 
is  foolish  and  wrong  of  you  to  vex  yom'self  more  than  is 
needful." 

*'  But  I  do  not,  indeed.  Just  now  it  was  her  restless,  aim- 
less walking  up  and  down  that  vexed  me.  I  am  fooHsh,  I 
suppose,  but  it  always  does." 

"  I  daresay  it  may  tell  of  an  uneasy  mind,  whiles,"  said 
Mrs.  Snow,  gravely.  "I  mind  you  used  to  be  given  to  it  your- 
self in  the  old  times,  when  you  werena  at  ease  with  yourself. 
But  if  you  don't  like  it  in  your  sister,  you  should  encourage 
her  to  employ  herself  in  a  piu'pose-like  manner." 

*'  Hannah  has  done  it  for  me  this  time — I  am  not  sure, 
however."  For  Rosie  was  standing  still  at  the  gate  looking 
away  down  the  hill  towai'ds  the  village,  "  thinking  her  own 
thoughts,  doubtless,"  Graeme  saic*  '  o  herself. 

"  She 's  waiting  for  some  one,  maybe.  I  daresay  Sandy 
has  sent  some  one  down  to  the  village  for  the  papers,  as  this 
is  the  day  they  mostly  come." 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,"  continued  IVIrs.  Snow,  in  a  little, 
"  it  is  time  you  were  thinking  of  overtaking  all  the  visiting 
you'll  be  expected  to  do,  now  that  I  am  better.  It  will  be  a 
while  before  you'll  get  over  all  the  places  where  they  will 
expect  to  see  you,  for  nobody  will  like  to  be  overlooked." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  said  Graeme.  "It  is  not  just  Uke 
last  time,  when  we  were  strangers  and  new  to  the  people. 
And  we  have  seen  almost  everybody  already.  And  I  like  this 
quiet  time  much  best." 


JANETS    LOVK    AND   SERVICE, 


>33 


reason 
mean  I 
Just 
an,  per- 
lything 
will  not 
atl  that 

ill  done 

lot  evil, 

:,  and  it 

than  is 

5SS,  aini- 
oolish,  I 

cs,"  said 

•  it  your- 

ourself. 

Lcourage 

lot  sure, 
looldng 
ler  own 

Sandy 
I,  as  this 

a  httle, 
I  visiting 

vill  be  a 
hicy  will 
U." 

ist  Uke 

I  people, 
like  this 


"  But,  my  dear,  it  is  too  late  to  begin  to  think  fii-st  of  your 
own  likes  and  dislikes  now.  And  it  will  be  good  for  Rosie, 
and  you  mustna  tell  uie  that  you  are  losing  interest  in  your 
Merleville  friends,  dear !  That  would  be  ungrateful,  when 
they  all  have  so  warm  an  interest  in  you." 

"No,  indeed!  I  ha^c  not  lost  interest  in  my  Merleville 
friends.  There  ^^•ill  never  be  any  place  just  like  Merleville  to 
me.  Our  old  life  here  always  comes  back  to  mo  like  a  happy, 
happy  dream.  I  can  hardly  remember  any  troubles  that 
came  to  us  all  those  seven  y^ars,  Janet — till  the  very  end." 

"  My  dear,  you  had  your  troubles,  plenty  of  tbem,  or  you 
thought  you  had  ;  but  the  golden  gleam  of  youth  hes  on  your 
thoughts  of  that  time,  now.  TTiere  was  the  going  away  of  the 
lads,  for  one  tlung.  I  mind  well  you  thought  those  partings 
hard  to  bear." 

*'  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Graeme,  gravely,  "  but  even  then 
we  hoped  to  meet  again,  and  life  lay  before  us  all ;  and  noth- 
ing had  happened  to  make  us  afraid." 

"  My  dear,  nothing  has  happened  yet  that  need  make  you 
afraid.  If  you  mean  for  Rosie,  she  must  have  her  share  of 
the  small  tribulations  that  fall  to  the  Ljt  of  most  women,  at 
one  time  or  other  of  their  hves  ;  but  she  is  of  a  cheerful 
nature,  and  not  easily  daunted ;  and  dear,  yon.  have  come 
safely  over  rougher  bits  of  road  than  any  that  are  like  to  he 
before  her,  and  she  aye  will  have  you  to  guide  her.  And 
looking  at  you,  love,  and  knowing  that  the  '  great  peace,'  the 
Book  speaks  about,  is  in  your  heart  and  in  your  life,  I  have 
no  fear  for  your  sister,  after  all  that  has  come  and  gone  to 
you." 

Graeme  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
she  said,  gently, 

"  I  am  not  afi*aid.  I  cannot  think  what  J  have  said,  Janet, 
to  make  you  think  I  am  afraid  for  Rosie." 

*'  My  dear,  you  have  said  notliing.  It  was  the  wistful  look 
in  your  e'en  that  made  me  speak  to  you  about  her.  And  be- 
sides, I  have  noticed  Rosie  myself.  She  is  not  so  hght  of 
heart  as  she  used  to  be.     It  may  be  the  anxious  time  you 


1 

i\ 

.     ','  1 


1^ 


li 


I  1^ 


634 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND  SERVICE. 


:;  ^t' 


have  had  with  mo,  or  it  may  be  tho  acldcd  years,  or  it  may  bo 
something  that  it  may  bo  wiser  for  you  and  me  not  to  seem 
to  SCO.  But  whatever  it  is,  I  am  not  afraid  for  Rose.  I  am 
only  afraid  that  you  may  vex  youi'self  about  her,  when  there 
is  no  need.    There  can  be  no  good  in  that,  you  know  well." 

"But  I  am  not  vexing  myself,  Janet,  indeed.  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  know  about  it.  Do  you  mind  that  restless  fit 
that  was  on  me  long  ago,  when  you  came  to  see  us,  and  how 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  go  away  ?  Well,  Rose  has  come 
to  the  same  place  in  her  life,  and  she  would  hke  to  have  work, 
real  work.to  do  in  the  world,  and  she  has  got  impatient  of 
her  useless  life,  as  she  calls  it.  It  has  come  on  her  sooner 
than  it  came  on  mo,  but  that  is  because  the  circumstances  are 
different,  I  suppose,  and  I  hope  it  may  pass  away.  For,  oh  I 
Janet,  I  shrink  from  the  struggle,  and  the  going  away  from 
them  all ;  and  I  have  got  to  that  tune  when  one  grows  con- 
tent with  just  tho  little  things  that  come  to  one's  hand  to  do, 
seeing  thej'  are  sent  by  God,  as  well  as  nobler  work.  But  it 
is  not  so  with  Rose,  and  even  if  this  wears  over,  as  it  did  with 
me,  there  ai'e  weary  days  before  her  ;  and  no  wonder,  Janet, 
that  I  follow  her  with  anxious  eves." 

There  was  no  more  said  for  a  moment.  They  were  both 
watching  Rose,  who  still  stood  at  the  gate,  shading  her  eyes, 
and  looking  down  the  hill. 

"  She  doesna  look  like  one  that  has  much  the  matter  with 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Snow.  "Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  do  you 
ken  what  ails  your  sister  ?  "Why  has  this  feverish  wish  to 
be  away  and  at  work  come  upon  her  so  suddenly,  if  it  is  a 
question  that  I  ought  to  ask  ?  " 

"Janet,  I  cannot  tell  you.    I  do  not  know.    I  can  but 
guess  at  it  myself,  and  I  may  be  all  wrong.     And  I  think, 
perhaps,  the  best  help  we  can  give  her,  is  not  to  seem  to 
see,  as  you  said  a  httle  ago.      Sometimes  I   have  thought 
it  might  all  be  set  right,  if  Rose  would  only  speak  ;  but  ov" 
can  never  be  sure,  and  I  think,  Janet,  wo  can  only  v 
and  see.     I  do  n't  believe  there  is  much  cause  for  fear,  x 
only  Rose  will  have  patience." 


it  may  bo 
t  to  seem 
JO.  I  am 
lion  there 
w  well." 
:  wiU  tell 
cstlcss  fit 

aiid  liDW 
has  come 
ave  work, 
oatient  of 
ler  sooner 
tances  are 

For,  oh  I 
iway  from 
frows  con- 
and  to  do, 
k.  But  it 
it  did  with 
or,  Janet, 

were  both 
;  her  eyes, 

atter  with 
do  you 
1  wish  to 
if  it  is  a 

can  but 
I  think, 
seem  to 
thought 
but  ovo 
only  •v\ 
fear,  i 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SKRVICE. 


535 


"Then,  wherefore  should  you  look  so  troubled  ?  Nothing 
but  wrong-domg  on  yoiu*  sister's  part  should  make  you  look 
like  that."  For  there  were  tears  in  Graeme's  eyes  as  slio 
watched  her  sister,  and  she  looked  both  anxious  and  afi'aid. 

"  Wrong-doing,"  repeated  she,  with  a  start.  Then  she  rose 
impatiently,  but  sat  down  again  in  a  moment.  Was  it  "  wrong- 
doing" in  a  woman  to  let  her  heart  slip  unawares  and  unasked 
from  her  own  keeping  ?  If  this  was  indeed  the  thing  that  had 
happened  to  Rose?  Or  was  it  "wrong-doing"  to  come  to  the 
knowledge  of  one's  heart  too  late,  as  HaiTy  had  once  hinted 
might  be  the  end  of  Eosie's  foolish  love  of  admiration  ? 

"  Wrong-doing,"  she  repeated  again,  with  a  sudden  stir  of 
indignation  at  her  heart.  "  No,  that  must  never  be  said  of  Boso. 
It  must  be  one  of  the  small  tribulations  that  sooner  or  later 
fall  to  the  lot  of  most  women,  as  you  said  yourself,  Janet,  a 
little  ago.  And  it  won't  do  to  discuss  it,  anyway.  See,  Koso 
has  opened  the  gate  for  some  one.     Who  is  coming  in  ?  " 

•'  My  dear,"  said  INIis.  Snow,  gi'avely,  "  it  was  far  from  my 
thought  to  wish  to  know  about  anything  that  I  should  not. 
It  is  Sandy  she  is  opening  the  gate  for,  and  wee  Rosie.  Ho 
has  been  down  for  the  papers,  it  seems,  and  he  may  have 
gotten  letters  as  welL" 

"  But,  Janet,"  said  Graeme,  eagerly,  "  you  know  I  could 
not  mean  that.  I  could  not  toU  'you  if  I  were  ever  so  will- 
ing. I  do  not  know.  I  can  only  guess  ;  but  as  for  "  wrong- 
doing— " 

"  My  dear,  you  needna  tell  me  that.  Sandy,  man,  it  must 
seem  a  strange  hke  thing  to  the  folk  in  the  village  to  see  you 
carrying  the  child  that  way  on  your  horse  before  you — you 
that  have  wagons  of  one  kind  or  another,  and  plenty  of  them, 
at  your  disposal.  Is  it  safe  for  the  bairn,  think  you  ?  Do 
you  hke  that  way  of  riding,  my  wee  Rosie  ?  " 

"Yes,  gamma,  I  'ike  it,"  lisped  the  two  years  old  Rosie, 
smiUng  brightly. 

"  It  is  safe  enough,  mother,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.'  And 
as  for  what  the  village  folk  may  think,  that 's  a  new  thing  for 
you  to  ask.     It  is  the  best  and  pleasantest  way  in  the  world 


n 


\' 


i  i 


530 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


•i   J'! 


for  both  Rosie  and  mc."  And  looking  at  the  proud,  young 
father  and  the  liappy  child  sitting  before  hun,  it  was  not  to 
be  for  a  nioment  doubted. 

"  It  must  be  dehghtful,"  said  R030,  laughing.  "  I  should 
like  a  ride  myself,  wee  Rosie." 

"  And  wiiy  not  ?  "  said  ]Mi*s.  Snow.  "  Sandy,  man,  it  is  a 
M'ondcr  to  mo  that  you  havena  thought  about  it  before. 
Have  you  your  habit  here,  my  dear  ?  Why  should  you  no' 
bring  young  Major  or  Dandy  over,  saddled  for  Miss  Rose  ?  It 
would  do  her  all  the  good  in  the  world  to  get  a  gallop  in  a 
day  lilie  this." 

"  There  u  no  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should  not,  if  Miss 
Rose  would  like  it." 

"I  would  like  it  very  much,  ^ot  that  I  need  the  good  of 
it  especially,  but  I  shall  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  it.  And  win  you 
Iv-^t  wee  Rosie  come  with  me." 

*'  If  grandma  has  no  objections,"  said  Sandy,  laughing. 
"  But  it  must  be  old  Major,  if  you  take  her." 

"Did  over  any  body  hear  such  nonsense?  "  said  Mrs.  Snow, 
impatiently.  "  But  you  '11  need  to  haste,  Sandy,  man,  or  we 
shall  be  having  visitors,  and  then  she  winna  get  away." 

"  Yes,  I  should  not  w  onder.  I  saw  Mr.  Perry  coming  up 
the  way  ^vith  a  book  in  his  hand.  But  I  could  bring  young 
Major  and  Dandy  too,  and  Miss  Rose  needn  't  be  kept  at  homo 
then." 

Rose  laughed  merrilj'. 

•*  SMio  ?  The  minister  ?  Oh !  fie,  Sandy  man,  you  shouldna 
speak  such  nonsense.  Wee  Rosie,  are  you  no'  going  to  stay 
the  day  with  IMiss  Graeme  and  me  ?  "  said  M^-s.  Snow. 

Graeme  held  u}}  her  arms  for  the  httle  gii-l,  but  she  did  not 
oflfer  to  move. 

"  Will  you  bide  with  grannie,  wee  Rosie  ?  "  asked  her  father, 
pulling  back  her  suu-bonnet,  and  letting  a  mass  of  tangled, 
yellow  ciu'ls  fall  over  her  rosy  face. 

"  Tuni  adain  Grannie,"  said  the  Uttlo  gii'l,  gravely.  She 
was  too  veil  pleased  with  her  place  to  wish  to  leave  it.  Her 
father  laughed. 


ti::i: 


I,  young 
s  not  to 

'.  should 

,  it  is  a 
before, 
you  no' 
ose?  It 
op  in  a 

:,  if  Miss 

good  of 
will  you 


aughing. 


s.  Snow, 
n,  or  we 

aing  up 
g  young 
at  homo 


louldna 
to  stay 

I  did  not 

father, 
[angled, 

She 
b.    Her 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


537 


"  She  shall  come  when  I  bring  over  Dandy  for  Miss  Bose. 
In  the  meantime,  I  have  soinething  for  some  one  here." 

"  Letters,"  s;iid  Graeme  and  Rose,  in  a  breath. 

"  One  a  piece.  Gootl  news,  I  hope.  I  shall  soon  be  back 
again,  Miss  Rose,  with  Dandy." 

Graeme's  letter  was  fi-om  A\'ill.,  written  after  having  heard 
of  his  sisters'  beira-  in  jMorleville,  before  he  had  hea'*l  of  Mi's. 
Snow's  recovery.  Ho  had  thought  once  of  coming  home  with 
Mr.  Millar,  he  said,  but  had  changed  liis  plans,  partly  because 
he  wished  to  accejit  an  invitation  he  had  received  from  his 
uncle  in  the  norih,  and  partly  for  other  reasons.  He  was 
staging  at  present  with  IVIrs.  Millar,  who  was  "  one  of  a 
thousand,"  wrote  AYill.,  with  enthusiasm,  "and,  indeed, so  is 
her  son,  Mr.  Ruthven,  but  you  know  Allan,  of  old.  And  then 
he  went  on  to  other  things. 

Graeme  read  the  letter  fiist  herself,  and  then  to  Mra.  Snow 
and  Rose.  In  the  midst  of  it  ]\Ir.  Snow  came  in.  Rose  had 
read  her's,  but  held  it  in  her  hand  still,  even  after  they  had 
ceased  to  discuss  Will. 's. 

"  It  is  from  Fanny"  said  she,  at  last.  "  You  can  read  it  to 
Mrs.  Snow,  if  you  like,  Graeme.  It  is  all  about  baby  and  his 
perfections,  or  nearl}-  all.  I  will  go  and  put  on  my  habit  for 
my  ride.  Uncle  Sampson  come  with  me,  won't  you  ?  Have 
you  anything  particular  to  do  to-day  ?  " 

"  To  ride  ?  "  said  Mr  Snow.  "  I  *d  as  Ueve  go  as  not,  and 
a  little  rather — if  you'll  promise  to  take  it  moderate.  I 
should  like  the  cliaise  full  better  than  the  saddle,  I  guess, 
though." 

Rose  laughed. 

"  I  will  promise  to  let  ym  lake  it  moderate.  I  am  not 
afraid  to  go  alone,  if  you  do  n't  want  to  ride.  But  I  should  n't 
fancy  tlio  chaise  to-day.  A  good  gallop  is  just  what  I  want, 
I  think." 

She  went  to  proi)are  for  hor  ride,  and  Graeme  read  Fanny's 

lettoi'.     It  was,  as  Rose  had  said,  a  record  of  her  darhng's 

pretty  sayings  and  doings,  and  gentle  regrets  that  his  aunts 

could  not  have  the  happiness  of  being  at  home  to  watch  his 

23* 


538 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


k'^ 

^'0 


. '  1  \'  J  • 

i  '  '-■  i 
■     f 

1     , :. 

1 

,11  ii; 
1   li 

1 

:1;  ''i 

iHli      M 

daily  growth  in  wisdom  and  beauty.     Thm  there  were  a  few 
wordy  at  the  end. 

"  Harry  is  properly  indignant,  as  we  all  are,  at  }our  hint 
that  you  may  see  Norman  and  Hilda,  before  you  see  home 
again.  Harry  says  it  is  quite  absurd  to  speak  of  such  a  thing, 
but  we  have  seen  verj'  little  of  him  of  late.  I  hojie  we  nmy 
see  more  of  him  now  that  '•  his  friend  and  partner*'  has  re- 
tmned.  He  has  been  quite  too  much  taken  up  with  his 
httle  Amy,  to  think  of  us.  However,  I  promised  'Mi:  ^lillar 
I  would  say  nothing  of  that,  bit  of  news.  He  mast  tell  you 
about  it  himself.  He  has  a  great  deal  of  Scottish  news,  but  I 
should  only  spoil  it  by  trying  to  tell  it ;  and  I  think  it  is  quite 
possible  that  Hany  may  fulfill  his  threat,  and  come  for  you 
himself.  But  I  suppose  he  wiD  give  you  fair  warning,"  and 
so  on. 

Graeme  closed  the  letter,  sajdng  nothing. 

"  It  is  not  just  very  clear,  I  think,"  said  lilrs.  Snow. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  Graeme.  "  I  did  not  notice.  Of  course, 
it  is  all  nonsense  about  Harry  coming  to  take  us  home," 

"  And  who  is  httle  Miss  Amy,  that  she  speaks  of  ?  Is  she  a 
Mend  of  your  brother  Harrj'  ?  Or  is  she  Mr.  Millar's  friend  ? 
Mrs.  Arthur  docsna  seem  to  make  it  clear  ?  " 

"IMiss  Amy  Roxbrny,"  said  Graeme,  opening  her  letter 
again.  "  Does  she  not  make  it  plain  ?  Oh,  well !  we  shall 
hoar  more  about  it,  she  says.  I  sujipose  Harry  has  got  back 
his  old  fancy,  that  we  are  to  go  and  hve  with  him  if  3Ir. 
Millar  goes  elsewhere.  Indeed,  I  don't  understand  it  myself ; 
but  we  shall  hear  more  soon  I  daresay.  Ah!  here  is 
llosio." 

"And  hero  is  Dandy,"  said  Rose,  coming  in  with  her 
habit  on.  "  And  hero  is  wee  llosio  come  to  keep  you  com- 
pany while  I  am  away.  And  h'^re  is  Mi*.  Snow,  on  old 
]\I:ijor.  Don't  expect  ua  home  till  night.  AVe  shall  have  a 
day  of  it,  shall  we  not  V  " 

They  had  a  very  quiet  day  at  home.  Wee  Ilosie  came  and 
went,  and  told  her  little  tales  to  the  content  of  her  grand- 
juother  and  Graeme,  who  made  muf;h  of  the  httle  girl,  as 


Janet's  love  and  service. 


530 


her 
com- 
old 
lave  a 


may  well  be  supposed.  She  was  a  bonny  little  creature  ; 
with  her  father's  blue  eyes  and  fair  curls,  and  sho^^'ing  already 
some  of  the  quaint,  {2^'ave  ways  that  Graeme  remembered  in 
her  mother  as  a  child. 

In  the  afternoon,  Emily  came  with  her  baby,  and  they 
were  all  happy  and  busy,  and  had  no  time  for  anxious  or 
troubled  thoughts.  At  least,  they  never  spoke  a  word  that 
had  reference  to  anything  sad.  But,  when  Graema  read  the 
letters  again  to  Emily,  Mrs.  Snow  noticed  that  she  did  not 
read  the  part  about  their  going  West,  or  about  little  Amy, 
or  about  Hany's  coming  to  take  them  home.  But  her  eye 
lingered  on  the  words,  and  her  thoughts  went  back  to  some 
old  trouble,  she  saw  by  her  grave  look,  and  by  the  silence 
that  fell  upon  her,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  pretty  child's 
play  with  the  httle  ones.  But  never  a  word  was  spoken 
about  anything  sad.  And,  by  and  by,  visitors  came,  and  Mrs. 
Snow,  being  tired,  went  to  lie  down  to  rest  for  a  while.  But 
when  Rose  and  IVIr.  Snow  came  home,  they  found  her  stand- 
ing at  the  gate,  ready  to  receive  them. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 


'  '  "T~  WANT  to  know !  Now  do  tell ;  if  there  ain't  mother 
I  standing  at  the  gate,  and  opening  it  for  us,  too,"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Snow,  in  astonishment  and  delight.  That  is 
the  farthest  she 's  been  yet,  and  it  begins  to  look  a  Httle  like 
getting  well,  now,  don't  it  ?  " 

"I  hope  nothing  has  happened,"  said  Rose,  a  little 
anxiously. 

"  I  guess  not — ^nothing  to  fret  over.  Her  face  don't  look' 
like  it  Well,  mother,  you  feel  pretty  smart  to-night,  don't 
you  ?    You  look  first-rate." 

"  I  am  just  as  usual,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  quietly.  "  But  what 
has  kept  you  so  long  ?  We  were  beginning  to  wonder  about 
you." 

*•  Has  anything  happeiied  ?  "  said  Rose,  looking  over  IMrs. 
Snow's  head,  at  a  httle  crowd  of  people  coming  out  at  the 
door. 

"  We  have  visitors,  that  is  all.  The  minister  is  here,  and 
a  friend  of  your's — your  brother  Harry's  partner.  He  has 
brought  news — not  bad  news,  at  least  he  doesna  seem  to 
think  so,  nor  Miss  Graeme.  I  have  hardly  heard  it  myself, 
yet,  or  seen  the  young  man,  for  I  was  tired  and  had  to  lie 
down.     But  you  '11  hear  it  yourself  in  due  time." 

Rose  reined  her  horse  aside. 

"Take  care,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  as  she  sprang  to  the 
ground  without  assistance.  "There  is  no  need  for  such 
haste.  You  might  have  waited  for  Sandy  or  some  one  to 
help  you,  I  think." 

"  What  is  it,  Graeme  ? "  said  Rose,  for  her  sister  looked 
flushed  and  excited,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears  on  her 
(540) 


H 


JANET  8   LOVE   AND  SERVICE. 


541 


mother 
»o,"  ex- 
That  is 
ttle  like 

a   little 

)n't  look 
tit,  don't 

5ut  what 
ler  about 

er  IMrs. 
at  the 

ere,  and 
He  has 
seem  to 
myself, 
d  to  lie 


;  to  the 
Dr  such 
one  to 

looked 
Ion  her 


cheeks  she  was  sure.  But  she  did  not  look  anxious — cer- 
tainly not  unhappy. 

"Rosie,  dear,  Charhe  has  come." 

"  Oh !  Ch;u-Iio  has  come,  has  he  ?  That  is  it,  is  it  ?  "  said 
Rose,  with  a  long  breath. 

Yes,  tliero  was  'Mr.  Millar,  offering  his  hand  and  smiling — 
"  exactly  hkc  himself,"  Rose  thought,  but  she  could  not  tell 
very  well,  for  her  eyes  were  dazzled  with  the  red  light  of  the 
setting  sun.  But  she  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  she  told 
him;  and  she  told  the  minister  she  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  too, 
in  the  very  same  tone,  the  next  minute.  There  was  not  much 
time  to  say  anything,  however,  for  Hannah — whose  patience 
had  been  tried  by  the  delay — announced  that  tea  was  on  the 
table,  in  a  tone  quite  too  peremptory  to  be  trifled  with. 

*'  Rose,  you  are  tired  I  am  sure.  Never  mind  taking  off 
your  habit  till  after  tea." 

Rose  confessed  herself  thed  after  her  long  and  rapid  ride. 

"  For  I  left  Mr.  Snow  at  Major  Spring's,  and  went  on  a 
long  way  by  myself,  and  it  is  just  possible,  that,  after  all,  you 
are  right,  and  I  have  gone  too  fiir  for  the  first  ride  ;  for  see, 
I  am  a  httle  shaky,"  added  she,  as  the  teacup  she  passed  to 
Mr.  Snow  trembled  in  her  hand. 

Then  she  asked  Mr.  Millar  about  the  news  he  had  brought 
them,  and  whether  all  were  well,  and  a  question  or  two  bo- 
sides  ;  and  then  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation  of  the  minister,  and  it  came  into 
Graeme's  mind  that  if  Hariy  had  been  there  he  would  have 
said  she  was  amusing  herself  with  a  little  serious  flirtation. 
Graeme  did  not  think  so,  or,  if  she  did,  it  did  not  make  her 
angry  as  it  would  have  made  llany ;  for  though  she  said 
little,  except  to  the  grave  wee  Rosie  Nasmjiih,  whom  she  had 
taken  under  her  care,  she  looked  very  bright  and  glad.  Rose 
looked  at  her  once  or  twice,  a  little  startled,  and  after  a 
while,  in  watcliing  her,  evidently  lost  the  thread  of  the 
minister's  entertainiog  discourse,  and  answered  him  at 
random. 

"I  have  a  note  from  Hany,"  said  Graeme,  as  they  left  the 


642 


.i'Anet'8  love  and  service. 


M 


li« 


WC:    \ 


^irlH 


Hri 


It  is. 


Go  and  take  off  your  habit.     You 


tea-table.     "  Hero 
look  hot  and  tired." 

In  a  little  while  the  vitiitors  were  g6ne,  and  IVIr.  INIillar  was 
being  put  through  a  coui'se  of  questions  by  Mr.  Snow. 
Graeme  sat  and  hstened  to  them,  and  thought  of  Rose,  who, 
all  the  time,  was  sitting  up  stairs  with  Harry's  letter  in  her 
hand. 

It  was  not  a  long  letter.  Rose  had  time  to  read  it  a  dozen 
times  over,  Graeme  knew,  but  still  she  lingered,  for  a  reason 
she  could  not  have  told  to  any  one,  which  she  did  not  even  care 
to  make  very  plain  to  herself.  ]Mr.  Snow  was  asking,  and  IVIr. 
IVIillar  was  answering  questions  about  Scotland,  and  Will., 
and  Mr.  Ruthven,  and  every  word  that  was  said  was  intensely 
interesting  to  her  ;  and  yet,  while  she  listened  eagerly,  and 
put  in  a  word  now  and  then  that  showed  how  much  she 
cared,  she  was  conscious  all  the  time,  that  she  was  listening 
for  the  sound  of  a  movement  overhead,  or  for  her  sister's 
footstep  on  the  stair.  By  and  by,  as  Charlie  went  on,  in 
answer  to  Mr.  Snow's  questions,  to  tell  about  the  state  of 
agriculture  in  his  native  shire,  her  attention  wandered  alto- 
gether, and  she  listened  only  for  the  foots*  ^ps. 

"  She  may  perhaps  think  it  strange  that  I  do  not  go  up  at 
once.  I  daresay  it  is  foolish  in  me.  Very  likely  this  news 
will  be  no  more  to  her  than  to  me." 

"  Where  is  your  sister  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Snow,  who,  as  well  as 
Graeme,  had  been  attending  to  two  things  at  once.  "  I  doubt 
the  foolish  lassie  has  tired  herself  with  riding  too  far." 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  said  Graeme. 

Before  she  entered  her  sister's  room  Rose  called  to  her. 

"Is  it  you,  Graeme?  What  do  you  think  of  Harry's 
news  ?    He  has  not  lost  much  time,  has  he  ?  " 

"I  was  siu-prised,"  said  Graeme. 

Rose  was  busy  brushing  her  hair. 

"  Suri^risedl  I  should  think  so.  Did  you  ever  think  such 
a  thing  might  happen,  Graeme  ?  " 

This  was  Harry's  letter. 

"  My  Deml  Sisters, — I  have  won  my  Amy  I    You  cannot 


jankt's  love  and  service. 


543 


[arry's 


k  such 


janiiot 


be  more  astonished  than  I  am.  I  know  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  her,  but  I  love  her  dearly,  and  it  will  go  hard 
with  me  if  I  don't  make  her  happy.  I  only  want  to  be 
assui'ed  that  you  are  both  delighted,  to  make  my  happiness 
complete." 

Tlirowing  her  hair  back  a  little,  Rose  read  it  again.  Tliis 
was  not  quite  all.  There  was  a  postscript  over  the  page, 
which  Rose  had  at  first  overlooked,  and  she  was  not  sui-e 
that  Graeme  had  seen  it.  Besides,  it  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  subJFict  matter  of  the  note. 

"  Did  the  thought  of  such  a  thing  ever  come  into  your 
mind?"  asked  she  again,  as  she  laid  the  letter  down. 

"Yes,"  said  Graeme,  slowly.  "It  did  come  into  my  mind 
more  than  once.  And,  on  looking  back,  I  rather  wonder  that 
I  did  not  see  it  all  I  can  remember  now  a  good  many 
things  that  looked  hke  it,  but  I  never  was  good  at  seeing  such 
affairs  approaching,  you  know." 

"  Ai'e  you  glad,  Graeme  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad.  I  believe  I  shall  be  very  glad  when  I 
have  had  time  to  think  about  it." 

"  Because  Harry's  happiness  won't  be  complete  unless  you 
are,  you  know,"  said  Rose,  laughing. 

"  I  am  sure  Harry  is  quite  sincere  in  what  he  says  about 
it,"  said  Graeme. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  doubted.  I  daresay  she  ij  a  nice  httle 
thing  ;  and,  after  all,  it  won't  make  the  same  difference  to  us 
that  Fanny's  coming  did." 

"  No,  if  wc  are  to  consider  it  with  reference  to  oui*sclves. 
But  I  think  I  am  very  glad  for  Harry's  sake." 

"  And  that  is  more  than  wo  could  have  said  for  Arthur. 
However,  there  is  no  good  in  going  back  to  that  now.  It  has 
all  turned  out  very  <vell. " 

"  Things  mostly  do,  if  people  will  have  patience,"  said 
Graeme,  "  and  I  am  sui'c  this  will,  for  Harry,  I  mean.  I  was 
always  inclined  to  like  little  Amy,  only — only,  we  saw  very 
little  of  her  you  know — and — ^yes,  I  am  sm*e  I  shall  love  her 
dearly." 


I 


544 


JANETS    LOVK   AND   SERVICE. 


11 


,  m 


?   I 


fi!!H 


;  r 


"  Well,  you  must  mako  hasfco  to  tell  Harry  so,  to  complete 
his  happiness.  And  ho  is  very  much  astonished  at  his  good 
fortune,'  said  Rose,  taking  up  the  letter  again.  *'  'Not  good 
enough  for  her,'  he  says.  Tliat  is  the  humility  of  true  love,  I 
sui)pose  ;  and,  really,  if  ho  is  pleased,  we  may  bo.  I  daresay 
she  is  a  nice  little  thing." 

"  She  is  more  than  just  a  nice  httle  thing.  You  should  hear 
what  ]VIr.  Millar  says  of  her." 

"  He  ought  to  know !  *  Poor  Charlie,'  as  Harry  calls  him  in 
the  pride  of  his  success.  Go  down  stau's,  Graeme,  and  I  will 
follow  in  a  minute  ;  I  am  nearly  ready." 

The  postscript  which  Rose  was  not  sure  whether  Graeme 
had  seen,  said,  "  poor  Charlie,"  and  intimated  that  Harry's 
sisters  owed  him  much  kindness  for  the  trouble  he  was  taking 
in  going  so  far  to  carry  them  the  news  in  person.  Not  Harry's 
own  particular  news,  Rose  supposed,  but  tidings  of  Will.,  and 
of  all  that  was  likely  to  interest  them  from  both  sides  of  the  sea. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  why  he  calls  him  *  poor  Charlie,' " 
said  Rose,  with  a  shrug.  "  I  suppose,  however,  we  must  all 
seem  like  objects  of  compassion  to  Harrj',  at  the  moment  of 
his  triumph,  as  none  of  us  have  what  has  fallen  to  him." 

Graeme  went  dovNH  without  a  word,  smiling  to  her- 
self as  she  went.  She  had  seen  the  postscript,  and  she 
thought  she  knew  why  Harry  had  written  "  poor  Charhe," 
but  she  said  nothing  to  Rose.  The  subject  of  conversation 
had  changed  dm'ing  her  absence,  it  seemed. 

"I  want  to  know  !  Do  tell !"  Mr.  Snow  was  saying.  "I 
call  that  first-rate  news,  if  it  is  as  you  say,  Mr.  Millar.  Do 
the  gu'ls  know  it  ?  Graeme,  do  you  know  that  Harry  is  going 
to  be  married?"  , 

"  Yes,  so  HaiTy  tolls  me." 

"  And  who  is  the  lady  ?  Is  it  any  one  we  Imow  about  ? 
Roxbury,"  repeated  ^Ir.  Snow,  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me  I  thought  I  heard  different.  I  don't  seem  to 
imderstand." 

He  looked  anxiously  into  the  face  of  his  Avife  as  though  she 
could  help  him. 


)mplete 
is  good 
ot  good 
love,  I 
daresay 

lid  hear 

3  him  in 
id  I  will 

Graeme 
Harry's 
IS  taking 
■j  Harry's 
Vill.,  and 
f  the  sea. 
Iharlie,' " 
must  all 
l)ment  of 
m." 

to  her- 
and  she 
Charho," 

crsation 


mg 


ar.     Do 
IS  going 


about  ? 

"  But  it 

Iscem  to 


)ugh  sho 


JANET  S   LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 

"  That's  not  to  be  wondered  at,"  said  sho,  smiling, 
seems  Miss  Graeme  herself  has  been  taken  by  surprise. 


545 

"It 
But 


she  is  well  pleased  for  all  that.  Harry  has  been  in  no  great 
hmTy,  I  think." 

"But  that  ain't  just  as  I  understood  it,"  persisted  Mr. 
Snow.  "  What  does  Rose  say  ?  She  told  me  this  afternoon, 
when  we  were  riding,  something  or  other,  but  it  sartain  wa'n't 
that." 

"It  could  hardly  be  that,  since  the  letter  came  when  you 
were  away,  and  even  IMiss  Graeme  knew  nothing  of  it  till  sho 
got  the  letter,'"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  ^vith  some  impatience. 

"  Rosie  told  me,"  went  on  Mr.  Snow.  "  Here  she  is.  What 
was  it  you  were  telling  me  this  afternoon  about — about  oui' 
friend  here —  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  told  you  a  great  many  things  that  it  would  not  do 
to  repeat,"  and  though  Rose  laughed,  she  reddened,  too,  and 
looked  appealingly  at  Graeme. 

"  Was  n't  Roxbury  the  name  of  the  lady,  that  you  told  me 
was—" 

"  Oh  !  Uncle  Sampson !    Never  mind." 

"Dear  mo,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  "what  need  you  make  a 
mj'stery  out  of  such  plain  reading.  Miss  Graeme  has  gotten 
a  letter  telling  her  that  her  brother  Harry  is  going  to  be  mar* 
ried  ;  and  what  is  there  so  wonderful  about  that  ?" 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  He  did  not  understand  it  the 
least  in  the  world,  but  he  understood  that,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  Mrs.  Snow  wanted  nothing  more  said  about  it,  so  ho 
meant  to  say  no  more  ;  and,  after  a  minute,  he  made  Rose 
Btart  and  laugh  nervously  by  the  energj^  with  which  ho  re- 
peated, "  Just  so  ;"  and  still  he  looked  from  Graeme  to  IMr. 
Millar,  as  though  he  expected  them  to  tell  him  something. 

"Harry's  letter  gives  the  news,  and  that  is  all,"  said 
Graeme. 

"  But  I  cannot  understand  yoiu"  sm'prise,"  said  IMr.  Millar, 
not  to  Mr.  Snow,  but  to  Graeme.  "  I  thought  you  must  have 
seen  it  all  along." 

"  Did  you  see  it  all  along  ?"  asked  IVL*.  Snow,  looking  queer. 


,M' 


540 


JANEl'S   LOVE   AND   8EUVICK. 


|,  ■( 


■■    I 


!'■ 


» 


ifl] 


"  I  was  in  Harry's  confidence  ;  but  oven  if  I  had  not  been, 
I  am  siu'o  I  must  have  seen  it.  I  almost  think  I  knew  what 
was  coming  before  he  knew  it  himself,  at  the  very  first." 

"  The  very  first  ?"  repeated  Graeme.  "  When  was  that  ? 
In  the  spring?  Before  the  time  we  went  to  JNlrs.  Roxbiu-y's, 
on  the  evenmg  of  the  Convocation  ?" 

"  Oh !  yes !  long  before  that — before  Miss  Rose  came  homo 
fi'om  the  West.  Indeed,  I  think  it  was  love  at  first  sight,  as 
far  as  IlaiTy  was  concerned,"  added  ]Mr.  Millar,  with  an  em- 
baiTassed  laugh,  coming  suddenly  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Snow  was  regarding  him  with  curious  eyes.  But 
Mr.  Snow  turned  his  attention  to  Rose. 

"  W^hat  do  1J0U  say  to  that  ?"'  asked  ho. 
•  I  have  notliing  to  say,"  said  Rose,  pettislily.     **  I  was  not 
in  Harry's  confidence." 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  meditatively. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  like  her  when  you  know  her  better," 
said  Ml-.  IVIillar. 

"  Oh !  if  Harry  likes  her  that  is  the  chief  thing,"  said  Rose, 
with  a  shi-ug.  "  It  won't  matter  much  to  the  rest  of  us — I 
mean  to  Graeme  and  me." 

"  It  will  matter  very  much  to  us,"  said  Graeme,  "  and  I 
know  I  shall  love  her  dearly,  and  so  will  you,  Rosio,  when  she 
is  our  sister,  and  I  mean  to  write  to  Harry  to-morrow — and 
to  her,  too,  perhaps." 

"  Sho  wants  very  much  to  know  you,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  like  each  other,"  said  Mi*.  Millar  looking  deprecatingly  at 
Rose,  who  was  not  easy  or  comfortable  in  her  mind  any  one 
could  see. 

"Just  tell  me  one  thing.  Rose,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "How 
came  you  to  suppose  that — " 

But  the  question  was  not  destined  to  be  answered  by  Rose, 
at  least  not  then.  A  matter  of  greater  importance  was  to  be 
laid  before  her,  for  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Hannah 
put  in  her  head. 

"  Where  on  earth  did  you  put  the  yeast-jug.  Rose  ?  I  have 
taken  as  many  steps  as  I  want  to  after  it ;  if  you  had  put  it 


i!.i\ 


»t  been, 

w  what 

b." 

,s  that? 

!tbm*y's, 

0  homo 
ught,  as 

1  an  em- 
3  of  the 
res.  But 


was  not 


•  better," 

aid  Rose, 
of  us — ^I 

"  and  I 
vhen  she 
>w — and 

luro  you 
mgly  at 
any  one 

"How 

)y  Rose, 

[as  to  be 

[annah 

I  have 
put  it 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


547 


back  in  its  pltice  it  would  have  jiaid,  I  g^icss.  It  would  hiivo 
suited  nv,  hotter,  and  I  guess  it  would  have  suited  better  all 
round." 

Her  voice  betraved  a  stmpfglo  between  oftendeddi''iiitv  and 
decided  crossness.  Rose  was  a  little  hystericd,  Graeme 
thought,  or  she  never  would  have  laughed  about  such  an 
inil>ortant  matter  in  Ilamiah's  face.  For  Ilaimah  knew  her 
OA\'n  value,  which  was  not  small  in  the  household,  and  she 
was  not  easily  propitiated  when  a  slight  was  given  or  un- 
agined,  as  no  one  know  better  than  Rose.  And  before  com- 
pany, too ! — company  with  whom  Hannah  had  not  been 
"made  acquainted,"  as  Hannah,  and  the  sisterhood  generally 
in  IMerleville,  as  a  nile,  claimed  to  be.  It  was  dreadful  te- 
merity on  Rose's  part. 

"  Oh !  Hannah,  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

But  the  door  was  suddenly  closed.  Rose  hastened  after  her 
in  haste  and  confusion. 

Mr.  Snow  had  been  deeply  meditating,  and  he  was  evidently 
not  aware  that  anything  particular  had  been  happening,  for 
he  turned  suddenly  to  IVIr.  ]\Iillar,  and  said, 

"  I  understood  that  it  was  you  who  was  —  eh  —  who 
was  —  keeping  company  with  IMiss  Roxbury  ?" 

"  Did  3*ou  think  so.  Miss  EUiott,"  said  Charhe,  in  some  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Mr.  Snow,"  said  his  wife,  in  a  voice  that  brought  him  to 
her  side  in  an  instant.  "  You  may  have  read  in  the  Book, 
how  there  is  a  time  to  keep  silence,  as  well  as  a  time  to  speak, 
and  the  bau'n  had  no  thought  of  having  her  words  rei^oatcd 
again,  though  she  might  have  said  that  to  you." 

She  spoke  very  softly,  so  that  the  others  did  not  hear,  and 
"Ml'.  Snow  would  have  looked  penitent,  if  he  had  not  looked 
so  bewildered.     Raising  her  voice  a  little,  she  added, 

"  You  might  just  go  out,  and  tell  Hannah  to  send  Jabez 
over  to  Emily's  about  the  yeast,  if  she  has  taken  too  many 
steps  to  go  herself  ;  for  Miss  Rose  is  tired,  and  it  is  growing 
dark; — and  besides,  there  is  no  call  for  her  to  go  Hannah's  mes- 
sages— though  you  may  as  well  no'  say  that  to  her,  either." 


! 


I 


m 


•». 


'  1 


m 


m   ■■M 


54S 


JANETS    LOVE    AND   SERVICE. 


But  the  door  opened,  and  Rose  came  in  again. 

"  I  can't  cvi'n  find  the  juy,"  she  «aid,  pretending'  gi*eat  con- 
stcrnjition.  "  And  this  is  the  second  one  I  have  been  tho 
death  of.  Oh !  hero  it  is.  I  must  have  loft  it  here  in  tho 
morning,  and  wee  Rosie  s  flowers  are  in  it !  Oh  !  yes,  dear,  I 
must  go.  Hannah  is  going,  and  I  must  go  ^^•ith  her.  She  is 
just  a  httle  bit  cross,  you  know.  And,  besides,  I  want  to  toll 
her  the  news,"  and  she  went  away. 

l\Ir.  Snow,  feeling  that  ho  had,  in  some  way,  been  compro- 
mising himself,  went  and  sat  dovm.  bosido  his  wife,  to  bo  out 
of  the  temi:)tation  to  do  it  again,  and  Mr.  ]Millar  said  again, 
to  Graeme,  voi-y  softly  this  ijmo, 

"  Did  you  think  so,  Miss  EUiott  ?" 

Graeme  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  Charlie.  I  must  confess,  there  did,  more  than  once, 
come  into  my  mind  tho  possibility  that  HaiTy  and  his  fiiend 
and  jiai'tner  might  find  themselves  rivals  for  the  favor  of  the 
sweet  little  Amy.     But  you  must  remember,  that " 

But  Charlie  intciTuptcd  her,  eagerly. 

"And  did  —  did  your  sister  think  so,  too  ?  No,  dc't  an- 
swer mo "  added  he,  suddenly  rising,  and  going  first  to 

the  window  to  look  out,  and  then,  out  at  the  door.  Li  a  little 
Graeme  rose,  and  went  out  too,  and  followed  him  down  the 
path,  to  the  gate,  over  which  ho  was  loaning.  There  was  no 
time  to  speak,  however,  before  they  heai  1  tho  voices  of  Rose 
and  Hannah,  coming  toward  them.  Hannah  was  propitiated, 
Graeme  knew  by  tho  sound  of  her  voice.  IMr-  Millar  opened 
the  gate  for  them  to  pass,  and  Graeme  said, 

"  You  have  not  been  long,  Rosie." 

"  Are  ^ou  here,  Graeme,"  said  Rose,  for  it  was  quite  dark, 
by  this  time.  "  Hannah,  this  is  TJr.  Millar,  my  brother 
Harry's  fi'iend  and  partner."  And  then  she  added,  with 
gi'oat  gravity,  according  to  the  most  approved  Merlevillo  for- 
mula of  introduction,  "  Mr.  Millar,  I  make  you  acquainted 
with  Miss  Lovejoy." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  IVIr.  IVIillar. 
I  hope  I  see  you  well,"  said  Miss  Lovejoy,  with  benignity.     If 


JANKT  S    LOVK    AND   SlJJVICi;. 


549 


?at  con- 

cen  tho 

in  tho 

dear,  I 

She  is 

it  to  toll 

compro- 
o  bo  out 
(1  again, 


lan  once, 
lis  friend 
or  of  tlie 


dc't  an- 

Ig  first  to 

11  a  littlo 

[lowii  the 

was  no 

of  Rose 

Lpitiated, 

lr  opened 


lite  dark, 

brother 

xl,  with 

alio  for- 

luainted 

jVIillar. 
lity.    H 


Mr.  Millar  was  not  qnit(>  criual  to  the  occasion,  I\Iis,s  Lovcjny 
was,  and  she  said  exactly  what  was  prDjier  tf)  bo  said  in  tlio 
circumstances,  and  neither  Graeme  nor  lloso  needed  to  say 
anything  till  they  got  into  tho  house  again. 

"  There !  that  is  over,"  said  Hose,  with  a  sigh  of  rchef. 

"  Tlio  getting  of  tho  yeast  ?"  said  Graeme,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  and  tho  pacification  of  Miss  Lovojoy." 

It  was  not  quite  over,  however,  Graeme  thought  in  tho 
morning.  For  Rose  seemed  to  think  it  necessary  to  give  a 
a  good  deal  of  her  time  to  household  matters,  whether  it 
was  still  with  a  view  to  tho  good  humor  of  Hannah  or  not, 
was  not  easy  to  say.  But  she  could  only  give  a  divided  at- 
tention to  theii'  visitor,  and  to  the  account  of  all  that  ho 
and  \V^ill.  had  dono  and  enjoyed  together.  Graeme  and 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  for  awhile,  and  when 
IMi's.  Snow  had  lisen,  and  was  m  tho  sitting-roon),  they  came 
and  sat  down  beside  her,  and,  after  a  time,  Rose  came  too. 
But  it  was  Graeme  who  asked  questions,  and  who  drew  jMi\ 
Millar  out,  to  tell  about  their  adventures,  and  misadventiu'os, 
and  how  Will,  had  improved  in  all  respects,  and  how  like  his 
father  all  tho  old  people  thought  him.  Even  Mrs.  Snow 
had  more  to  say  than  Rose,  especially  when  ho  went  on  to 
tell  about  Clayton,  and  the  changes  that  had  taken  place 
there. 

"  Will,  fancied,  before  ho  went,  that  ho  remembered  all  the 
places  distinctly,  and  was  very  loth  to  confess  that  ho  had 
been  mistaken.  I  suppose,  that  his  imagination  had  had  as 
much  to  do  with  his  idea  of  his  native  jilace,  as  his  memory, 
and  when,  at  last,  we  went  down  the  glen  where  yom*  mother 
used  to  hve,  and  where  he  distinctly  remembered  going  to 
see  her  with  you,  not  long  before  you  all  came  away,  ho  ac- 
knowledged as  much.  He  stopped  across  tho  bum  at  the 
widest  part,  and  then  he  told  me,  laughing,  that  he  had  al- 
ways thought  of  the  burn  at  that  place,  as  being  about  as 
wide  as  the  Merle  river,  just  below  the  mill  briilge,  however 
wide  that  may  be.  It  was  quite  a  shock  to  him,  I  assm-e 
you.    And  then  tho  kirk,  and  the  manse,  and  all  the  village, 


650 


JAKKT  6    LOVE    AND   SEIIVK'E. 


'f       «., 


looked  oUl,  and  small,  and  queer,  when  he  eamc  to  compai'e 
thoni  V,  ith  the  pictures  of  tlieni  ho  had  kept  in  his  mind,  all 
these  years.  The  <,'arden  he  remembered,  antl  the  lane  be- 
yond it,  Imt  I  iliink  the  only  things  he  found  quite  as  ho  ex- 
pected i()  find  them,  ^vero  tho  labunuim  tre<!H,  in  tliat  lane," 
and  on  Charlie  went,  from  one  thing  to  another,  drawn  on 
by  a  (piestion,  put  now  and  then  by  Graeme,  or  Mrs.  Snow, 
whenever  he  made  a  pause. 

But  all  that  was  said  need  not  be  told  here.  By  and  bj', 
l)e  rose  and  went  out,  and  when  ho  came  back,  he  held  an 
open  book  on  his  hand,  and  on  one  of  its  t)pen  pages  lay  a 
Bpray  of  withered  ivy,  gathered,  ho  said,  ftoi\i  the  kirkyard 
wall,  from  a  great  branch  that  hung  down  over  tho  spot 
where  theii*  mother  lay.  And  when  lie  had  laid  it  down  on 
(Jraeme's  lap,  ho  tnrned  and  went  out  again. 

"  "^  mind  the  spot  well,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  softly. 

"I  mind  it,  too,"  said  (Jraemo. 

Ro.se  did  not  "  mind"  it,  nor  any  other  spot  of  her  native 
land,  ntu*  the  young  mother  who  had  lain  so  many  yearn  be- 
neath tho  drooping  ivy.  But  sho  stooped  to  touch  with  her 
lips,  t!io  faded  leaves  that  spoke  of  her,  and  then  she  laid  her 
cheek  down  on  Graeme's  knee,  and  did  not  speak  a  word, 
except  to  say  that  slie  had  (piite  forgotten  alk 

By  and  by,  Mr.  Snow  came  in,  and  sometliing  was  said 
about  showing  IMerlevillo  to  their  visitor,  and  so  arranging 
matters  that  time  should  be  made  to  pass  pleasantly  to  him. 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  he  seems  no'  ill  to  please/'  said  Mrs.  Snow. 
"  Miss  Graeme  might  take  him  down  to  tho  village  to  ]\Ir. 
Grt'eueaf's  and  young  Mr.  Merle's,  if  sho  likes ;  but,  as  to 
letting  him  see  Merleville,  I  think  the  thing  that  is  of  most 
nnportanco  is,  that  all  Merleville  should  see  him." 

"  There  is  something  in  that.  I  don't  suppose  Merleville 
is  any  more  to  him  than  any  other  place,  except  that  Hairy 
and  the  rest  had  then*  homo  here,  for  a  spell.  But  all  tho 
]M(!rleville  folks  will  want  to  boo  Jn'in,  I  expect." 

liOKO  l.iiighiiigly  suggested  that  a  town  meeting  should  bo 
called  for  the  })uvj)0se. 


:Ci 


;ompare 
lind,  all 
hmo  bc- 
,s  ho  ex- 
it lane," 
rawn  on 
I.  Snow, 

and  by, 
held  an 
[CH  lay  a 
virkyard 
lie  spot 
Town  on 


r  native 
,'oara  be- 
witli  her 
laid  her 
a  word, 

vviis  said 
[ranging 

to  him. 

.  Snow. 

to  Air. 
It,  as  to 
lot"  most 

n'loville 
llan-y 
all  tho 

iould  bo 


jani;t  s  lovk  and  sekvice. 


551 


"  Well,  I  calculate  that  won't  bo  necessary.  If  he  stays 
over  Sunday,  it  will  do  as  well.  The  folks  will  have  a  chance 
to  see  him  at  meeting,  though,  I  Rup])os^>  it  wcmt  bo  boht  to 
toll  him  so,  before  he  goes.  Do  yon  suii[>oso  he  means  to 
stay  ovoi:^  Sunday,  Rosie  V" 

"  I  have  n't  asked  him,"  said  Rose. 

"  It  will  hkely  depend  on  how  he  is  entertained,  how  hmg 
ho  stavs,"  said  Airs.  Snow.  "  I  daresav  ho  will  be  in  no 
huri'y  to  got  home,  for  a  day  or  two.  And  Kosie,  my  dear, 
you  must  help  your  sister  to  make  it  pleasant  for  your  broth- 
er's friend." 

"  Oh !  ho 's  no'  ill  to  please,  as  you  said  yourself,"  answer- 
ed Rose. 

It  was  well  that  ho  was  not,  or  her  failure  to  do  her  part 
in  the  w*ay  of  amusing  liim,  might  have  sooner  fall(>n  under 
general  notice.  They  walked  down  to  the  village  in  tho  after- 
noon, first  to  Air.  Alorlo's,  and  then  to  Air.  ( Irccnleaf 's. 
Here,  Alaster  Elliott  at  once  took  possession  of  Rose,  and 
they  wont  away  together,  and  nothing  more  was  seen  of  them, 
till  tea  had  been  waiting  for  some  time.  Then  they  came  in, 
and  Air.  Perry  came  with  them.  Ho  stayed  to  tea,  of  course, 
and  made  himself  agi'oeable,  as  ho  always  did,  and  when  they 
went  home,  he  said  he  would  walk  with  them  part  of  the 
way.  He  had  most  of  the  talk  to  himself,  till  they  came  to 
tho  foot  of  tho  hill,  when  ho  bade  them,  reluctantly,  good- 
night. They  were  very  quiet  tho  rest  of  the  way,  and  when 
they  reached  homo,  Hi  sisters  went  up  stairs  at  once  to- 
gether, and  though  it  was  quite  dark,  neither  of  them  seem- 
ed in  a  great  h. vr    to  go  down  again. 

"  Rose,"  said  Cir?'aemo,  in  a  little,  "  where  ever  did  you 
moot  Air.  Perry  this  aficruoon  ?  And  why  did  you  bring  liini 
to  Air.  Grc(;nloaf's  with  you?" 

"I  did  nt)t  bring  him  to  Air.  (Jrooiik^if 's.  Ilo  came  of  his 
own  free  will.  And  I  did  not  mc  1  hiia  iinywhcro.  Ho  tol- 
lowcd  us  down  past  the  mill.  AVe  v.erc  going  for  oak  leaves. 
Elliott  had  seen  some  \ovy  pretty  ores  th(;rc,  and  T  sui)pose  Air. 
Perry  had  seen  them,  too.     Are  you  coming  down,  (rraeiao  ?" 


I 


652 


JANKT  ri    L(JVi:    AND   ftKUVlCE. 


li 


"  In  a  little.     Don't  wjiit  for  nie,  if  jou  wish  to  go." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  in  no  liasto,"  said  lloso,  milting'  down  by  tho 
window.     "What  arc  you  going  to  say  to  nic,  <Jracmo?" 

But  if  Gracne  had  anything  to  say,  .she  decided  not  U)  say 
it  then. 

"I  suppo.so  \\c  ought  to  go  down." 

Rose  foUowed  her  in  silence.  They  found  Mr.  and  'Mrs. 
Snow  alone. 

"Mr.  ^lillar  has  just  stepped  out,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "So 
you  had  ihc  niinistiu'  to-night,  again,  eh,  Rosie  ?  It  seems  to 
me,  he  is  g(!tling  pretty  fond  of  visiting,  ain't  he  V  " 

Rose  laughed. 

"  I  am  siu'o  tliat  is  a  good  thing.  Tlic  people  will  like 
that,  won't  tlie}'  ?  " 

"The  i)eople  Ito  goes  to  see  -.ull,  I  don't  doubt." 

"  AVell,  we  have  no  reason  to  coini)lahi.  He  has  given  us 
our  share  oi  iiis  visits,  always,"  said  Mrs.  Sncjw,  in  a  tone, 
that  her  h!isl>and  knew  was  meant  to  jiut  an  end  to  the  «li.s- 
cussion  of  the  subject.  Graemo  was  not  so  ob.sen'ant,  how- 
ever. 

"It  was  hardly  a  visit  he  made  at  Mr.  Gr(>(  nlcaf 's  to-night 
He  came  in  just  before  tea,  and  left  when  we  left,  iujuiedialcly 
after.     He  walked  with  us  to  tlie  foot  of  the  hill." 

"He  was  explaining  to  Elliott  and  uk^  the  cliemical  '-hange 
that  takes  place  in  the  leaves,  that  makes  the  Ix-autiful 
autumn  coUn's,  wi  wer(>  admiring  so  nnicli,"  said  Rose.  "  Ho 
is  great  it)  botany  and  chemistry,  Elliott  says." 

And  then  it  came  out  how  lie  had  crossed  the  bndgo, 
and  found  them  under  tho  oak  trees  behind  the  mi-'.  jinJ 
what  talk  tluMe  had  bc(!n  about  the  sunset  and  the  le.iVCH, 
and  a  goo<l  d(>al  nii,re.  ^Ir.  Snow  turned  an  amu.sed  v<'t 
doubtful  look  from  lier  to  bis  wife  ;  but  ]\Ii.s.  Snow's  clft.sely 
shut  lii»s  said  .so  plainly,  "  lea.>>t  said  soonest  mended,"  that 
ho  shut  his  lips,  too. 

It  would  have  been  as  well  if  (Jraeme  laul  done  so,  also,  hIjo 
thought  afterwards  ;  but  sIk-  had  made  up  brr  mind  to  say 
bomething  to  her  sister  that  night,  whither  wlu-  hketl  it  in* not, 


JANKT  h    LuVi;   AM)    KKKVICK. 


553 


•haiige 
.'iintiful 
"Ho 


(SO,  (sho 

to  Kjiy 

loriiot, 


I 


and  so  stivncliufj  lu'liind  hor,  ;is  she  was  brushing  out  liorhair, 
sho  said, 

"I  think  it  was  rather  foolish  in  Mr.  Perry  to  conic  to  Mr. 
Greenh>af's  to-ninht,  and  to  come  away  with  us  afterwju'ds." 

*'Do  vou  think  si)V"  said  llose. 

"YcH.  And  1  fancied  Mr.  and  Mrs.  (Jreonleaf  tliou^^ht  so, 
too.     T  saw  them  cxchan^'ing  glances  more  than  once." 

"Did  yonV  It  is  to  bo  hoped  the  minister  did  not  sec 
them." 

"Merlcvillo  peoj)le  are  all  on  the  watch — and  they  arc  so 
fond  of  talking.     It  is  not  at  all  nice,  I  think." 

"Oil,  well,  I  don't  know.  It  dei)endH  a  little  on  wh;i.t  they 
say,"  said  Kose,  knotting  up  her  hair.  "And  I  don't  suppose 
Mr.  Perrv  will  hoar  it." 

"  I  have  commenced  wrong,"  said  ( Jraeme  to  herself.  "  IJiit 
I  must  just  say  a  word  to  her,  now  I  have  began.  It  was  of 
oureelves  I  was  thinking,  Host! — of  yon,  rather.  .Viid  it  is 
not  nice  to  be  talked  about.  Ivo.sic,  tell  me  just  how  much 
you  civre  about  Mr.  Perry." 

"Tell  me  jnst  how  much  ;/nu  chyo  al)out  him,  dear,"  said 
Rose. 

"I  eare  quite  enough  for  him,  to  hope  that  he  will  not  be 
annoyed  or  made  luihappy.  Do  you  really  earj  for  him, 
llosie?" 

"Do  von,  Graeme?" 

"  Ro.se,  I  am  quite  in  earnest.  I  see — lam  afraid  the  g  »d 
foolish  man  wants  you  to  can-  for  him,  lUid  if  you  don't " 

"WeU,  dear— ifid.m't?" 

"If  you  don't,  ytm  must  not  act  so  that  ho  njay  fancy  you 
do,  llose.  I  think  there  is  some  dan;\e»'  in  his  curing  fiu* 
you." 

"He  cares  <iuit(>  as  much  for  y(»u  as  he  cares  for  me, 
Graeme,  and  with  better  reason.'* 

"Dear,  I  have  not  thought  about  hi.s  earing  for  either  of 
us  till  lately.  Indeed,  I  )iever  let  the  thought  tioiibh  me  till 
last  night,  after  Mr.  Millai-  came,  and  again,  to-night,  llosie, 
you  must  not  be  angry  with  what  I  sav." 


554 


JANKT8    LOVE    AND    SEUVICli:. 


,i1 


"  Of  course  not.  But  I  tliink  you  must  dispose  of  Mr. 
Perry,  before  you  bring  another  name  into  your  accusation ; 
Graeme,  deai*,  I  don't  ciu'o  a  [>in  for  Mr.  Pcny,  nor  ho  for 
me,  if  that  wiM  please  you.  But  you  are  not  half  so  clever  at 
this  sort  of  thing  as  Harry.  You  should  have  begun  at  once 
by  accusing  me  of  claiming  admiration,  and  flirting,  and  all 
thai     It  is  best  to  come  to  the  point  at  once." 

"  You  said  you  would  not  be  ai^gi'y,  Rosie." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  I  am  not  so  sure  about  it  as  I  was  a  min- 
ute ago.  And  what  is  the  use  of  vexing  one  another.  Don't 
say  any  more  to-night." 

Indeed,  what  could  be  fcaid  to  Hose  in  that  mood.  So 
Graeme  shut  her  lips,  too. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Snc  w  had  op"r>cd  his,  in  the  privacy 
of  their  chamber. 

"  It  begins  to  look  a  little  hko  it,  don't  it  ?  "  said  he. 

He  got  no  answer. 

"  I  'd  a  little  rather  it  had  been  Graeme,  but  Rosie  would 
bo  a  sight  better  tlian  neither  of  thcni." 

"I  'm  by  no  means  sure  of  that,"  said  INIrs.  Snow,  sharply. 
"  Rosie's  no'  a  [^ood  baii'n  just  now,  and  I  'm  no'  weel  pleased 
with  hei*." 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  Rosie,"  said  jMi*.  Snow,  gently. 

"Hard  on  her!  You  ought  to  have  more  sense  by  this 
time.  Rosic^'s  no'  thinking  about  the  minister,  and  he  hasna 
been  thinking  o'  her  till  lately — only  men  ai'e  such  fools. 
Forgive  me  for  saying  it  about  the  minister." 

"  Well,  I  thought,  myself,  it  was  Graeme  for  a  spell,  and 
I  'd  a  little  rather  it  would  be.  She's  older,  and  she's  just 
right  m  every  way.  It  would  be  a  blessing  to  more  than  the 
minister.  It  seems  as  though  it  was  just  the  right  thing. 
Now,  don't  it?" 

"I  caima  say.  It  is  none  the  more  likely  to  come  to  pass 
becAUSC  of  that,  as  you  might  ken  yourself  by  this  time,"  said 
his  wife,  gravely. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  There  'b  iUeck  and 
Emily." 


JANET  8    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


655 


pass 
said 

aud 


"  Hoot,  tie,  man !  They  cared  for  one  another,  and  neither 
Miss  Graeme,  nor  her  sister,  care  a  penny  piece  for  yon  man 
— for  the  minister,  I  mean." 

"  You  don't  think  him  good  enough,"  said  ]VIr.  Snow,  dis- 
contentedly. 

"Nonsense!  I' think  him  good  enough  for  anybody  that 
will  take  him.  He  is  a  very  good  man — what  there  is  o'  liim," 
added  she,  under  her  breath.  "But  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  speak  about  it,  when  there  is  a  chance  of  its  hai)poning. 
I  'm  no  weol  pleased  with  Rosio.  If  it  werena  that,  as  a  rule, 
I  dinna  like  to  meddle  with  such  matters,  I  would  have  a 
word  with  her  myself.  Thu  Ijairn  doesna  ken  her  ain  mind, 
I'm  thinkuig." 

The  next  day  was  rainy,  but  not  so  rainy  as  to  prevent  Mr. 
Snow  from  fulfilling  liis  promise  to  take  Mr.  ]\Iillar  to  see 
some  wonderful  (Uittle,  which  bade  fail'  to  make  ^Ir.  Nasmyth's 
a  celebrated  name  in  the  coimty,  and  before  they  came  homo 
again,  ]N^.  Snow  took  the  opportunity  to  say  a  w<»rd.  not  to 
Hose,  but  to  (Iraeme,  with  regard  to  her. 

"  \Vhat  ails  Kosic;  at  your  brother's  partner,  young  Mr. 
Millar?"  asked  she.  "1  thought  tluiy  would  have  been 
fiiends,  having  known  one  another  so  long." 

"Friends!"  repeated  (Jraeme.  "Are  they  not  friends? 
Wliat  makes  you  speak  in  tliat  way,  Janet?  " 

"Friends  they  are  not,"  repeated  Mrs.  Snow, eniphatieally. 
"  But  whether  tliey  are  less  than  friends,  or  more,  I  canna 
weel  make  out.     Maybe  you  <'an  help  me,  dear." 

"I  cannot,  indeed,"  said  (Iraeme,  laughhig  ahttlc  uncaHJly. 
"I  am  airaid  Charlie's  visit  is  not  to  give  any  of  usunniingh'd 
])leasure." 

"It  is  easy  seen  what  sh<  is  i«)  him,  poor  lad,  and  J  canna 
but  think — my  dear,  you  should  s])eak  to  your  sist-r." 

"  But,  Janet,  llosic  is  not  an  easy  perst)n  to  8p(»ak  to  al  oUi 
some  things.  And,  besides,  it  is  not  easy  to  know  whether 
one  may  not  do  harm,  rather  tl>an  g<'K>d,  l)y  Hp(  aking.  I  d'-d 
HiKJak  to  \\vv  last  night  ahout — about  Mr.  Perry." 

"About  the   miui.st(r!     And  v  hat  <lid  slie  answer  ?     Si*« 


650 


JANETS    LOVK    AND    SKUVICE. 


I,|: 


A  '5 


■I 


1 


cares  little  about  him,  I  'in  thinking.  It 's  uo'  pretty  in  her 
to  amuse  herself  so  openly  at  liis  expense,  poor  man,  though 
there 's  some  exeuse,  too — when  he  sliows  so  little  discretion." 

"  But,  anmsuig  herself,  Janet !  That  is  rather  hard  on 
Rosie.     It  is  not  that,  I  think." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "What  is  it,  then  ?  The  bairn  is  not  in  ear- 
nest    I  hope  it  may  all  come  to  a  good  ending." 

"  Oh !  Janet !  I  hope  it  may.  But  I  don't  like  to  think  of 
endhigs.  Rosie  must  belong  to  some  one  else  some  day,  I 
suppose.  The  best  thing  I  can  wish  for  her  is  that  I  may 
\o9iQ  her — for  her  sake,  but  it  is  not  a  happy  thing  to  think 
of  for  mme." 

"  Miss  Graeme,  my  dear,  that  is  not  Uke  you." 

*'  Lidccd,  Janet,  it  is  just  like  me.     I  can't  bear  to  think 

about  it.    As  for  the  minister ."     Graeme  shrugged  her 

shouldei-s. 

"  You  ncedna  trouble  yourself  about  the  minister,  my  dear. 
It  will  no'  be  him.  If  your  friend  yonder  would  "but  take 
heart  of  grace — I  have  my  own  thoughts." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know.     We  need  not  be  in  a  huiTy." 

*'  But,  dear,  think  what  you  were  tcUmg  me  the  other  day 
about  yom*  sister  going  out  by  herself  to  seek  her  fortune. 
Surelv,  that  would  be  far  worse." 

"  But  sh(»  woulil  not  have  to  go  by  herself.  I  should  go 
wilh  h(;r ;  and  Janet,  I  have  sometimes  the  old  dread  of 
change  upon  me,  as  I  used  to  have  long  ago." 

"  But,  my  dear,  why  should  you?  All  the  changes  in  our 
lot  are  in  good  hands.  I  dinna  need  to  tell  you  that  after 
all  these  years.  And  as  for  the  minister,  you  needna  be  afraid 
for  him." 

(iraeme  laughed  ;  and  though  the  entrance  of  Rose  pre- 
^ent<;d  any  more  being  said,  she  laughed  again  to  herself,  in  a 
way  ti)  excite  her  sister's  astonishment. 

'I  do  beli(>ve  Janet  is  pitying  me  a  little,  because  of  the 
minister's  inconstnncy,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Why  am  I 
limghing  at  it,  Rosie  '?     Yon  nnist  ask  IVFrs.  Snow." 

"My  dear,  how  can  I  t<;ll  your  sister's  thoughts'?     It  is  at 


JANETS    LOVE    AND    bEltVICE. 


bin 


go 
of 


them,  hIio  ib  laugliinp^,  and  I  think  the  nnnistcr  has  something 
to  do  with  it,  though  it  is  not  hko  her,  either,  to  laugh  at 
folk  in  an  unkindly  way." 

"It  is  more  like  me,  you  think,"  said  Rose,  pouting.  "  And 
as  for  the  minister,  she  is  veiy  welcome  to  him,  I  am  sure." 

"  N(msenso,  Rose !  Let  him  rest.  I  am  sure  Deacon 
Snow  would  think  us  very  irreverent  to  speak  about  the 
minister  in  that  way.  Tell  mo  what  you  are  g<3ing  to  do  to- 
day?" 

llosie  had  i)lenty  to  do,  and  by  and  by  she  became  absorb- 
ed in  the  elaborate  pattern  which  she  was  working  on  a  fi'ock 
for  woe  Rosie,  and  was  rather  more  remiss  than  before,  as  to 
doing  her  part  for  the  entertainment  of  their  guest.  She  had 
not  done  that  from  the  beginning,  but  her  quietness  and  pre- 
occupation were  more  apparent,  because  the  rain  kept  them 
within  doors.  Graeme  saw  it,  and  tried  to  break  tlu-ough  it 
or  cover  it  as  best  she  might.  Mrs.  Snow  saw  it,  and  some- 
times looked  gi'ave,  and  sometimes  amused,  but  she  made 
no  remarks  about  it.  As  for  Mr.  i\Iillar,  if  ho  noticed 
her  silence  and  proocsupation,  ho  certainly  did  not  resent 
them,  but  gave  to  the  lew  words  she  now  and  then  put  in, 
an  eager  attention  that  went  far  beyond  their  worth  ;  and 
had  she  been  a  princess,  and  he  but  a  humble  vassal,  ho 
could  not  have  addressed  her  with  more  respectful  deference. 

And  so  the  days  passed  on,  till  one  morning  sometljing 
was  said  by  Mr.  Millar,  aljout  its  being  time  to  draw  his  visit 
to  a  close.  It  was  only  a  word,  and  might  have  fallen  to  the 
ground  without  remark,  as  he  very  possibly  intended  it  sliould 
do  ;  but  Mr.  Snow  set  himself  to  combat  the  idea  of  his 
going  away  so  soon,  with  an  energy  and  determination  that 
brought  them  all  into  the  discussion  hi  a  litth;  while, 

"  Unless  there  is  sometliing  particular  taking  you  homo, 
you  may  as  well  stay  for  a  whilr  longer.  At  anyrate,  it  ain't 
worth  while  to  go  before  Sunday.  You  ought  to  stay  and 
hear  oiu*  minister  preach,  now  you  'vo  got  ac<iuainted  with 
him.     Ought  n't  he,  Graeme '? " 

Graeme  smiled. 


I 


558 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


;.it.    I 


"Oh!  yes,  ho  ouf^ht  to  stay  for  so  gootl  a  reason  as  that  is." 

"  There  are  worse  preachers  than  ]Mi'.  Perry,"  said  INIrs. 
Snow,  j^ravel}-. 

"  Oh  !  come  now,  mother.  That  ain't  saying  much.  Tlicrc 
aui't  a  great  many  better  preachers  in  our  part  of  the  work!, 
wliatcver  they  may  bo  where  you  hve.  To  be  sure,  if  you 
leave  to-night  after  tea,  you  can  catch  tho  night  cars  for  Bos- 
ton, and  stay  there  over  Simday,  and  have  your  pick  of  somo 
pretty  smart  men.  But  you  'd  better  stay.  -  Not  but  what  I 
could  have  you  over  to  Rixford  in  time,  as  well  as  not,  if  it 
is  an  object  to  you.  But  you  better  stay,  had  n't  he,  girls  ? 
What  do  you  say.  Rose  ?  " 

"  And  hear  Mr.  Periy  preach  ?  Oh  !  certainly,"  said  Rose, 
gravely. 

"  Oh !  he  will  stay,"  said  Graeme,  laughing,  with  a  litUo 
vexation.  "  It  is  my  behef  he  never  meant  to  go,  only  he 
likes  to  bo  entreated.     Now  corifoss,  Charlie." 


CHAPTER    XLIII.    ' 


yTjl  H,  bairns !  is  it  no'  a  bonny  day !"  said  Mrs.  Snow, 
1"^  breaking  into  Scotch,  as  she  was  rather  apt  to  do 
when  she  was  speaking  to  the  sisters,  or  when  a  Uttle  moved. 
"  I  aye  mind  the  first  look  I  got  o*  the  hills  ower  yonder,  and 
the  kirlc,  and  the  gleam  of  the  grJivestones,  through  the  trees. 
We  all  came  round  the  water  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  like 
this  ;  and  Norman  and  IlaiTy  took  tui'ns  in  carrying  wee 
Rosie,  and  wo  sat  down  here  and  rested  ourselves,  and  looked 
ower  yon  bonnv  water.  Eh,  bairns !  if  I  could  have  but  had 
a  glimpse  of  all  the  j'ears  that  have  been  since  then,  of  all 
the  *  goodness  and  mercy '  that  has  passed  before  us,  how 
my  thankless  murmurs,  and  my  imbolieving  fears  would  have 
been  rebuked !  " 

They  were  on  thou*  way  up  the  hill  to  spend  the  afternoon 
at  'Mv.  Nasmyth's,  and  Mr.  Millar  was  with  them.  Nothing 
more  had  been  said  about  his  going  away,  and  if  he  was  not 
quite  content. to  stay,  "his  looks  belied  hhn,"  as  Miss  Love- 
joy  remarked  to  herself,  as  she  watched  them  all  going  up 
the  hill  together.  They  were  going  very  slowly,  because  of 
Mrs.  Snow's  lingering  weakness.  One  of  the  few  of  the 
*'  Scotch  prejudices"  that  romamed  with  her  after  all  these 
years,  was  the  prejudice  in  favor  of  her  own  two  feet,  as  a 
means  of  locomotion,  when  the  distance  was  not  too  great  ; 
and  rather  to  the  discontent  of  Mr.  Snow,  she  had  insisted 
on  walking  up  to  the  other  house,  this  afternoon. 

"  It  is  but  a  step,  and  it  will  do  me  no  harm,  but  good,  to 
go  with  the  bairns,"  said  she,  and  she  got  her  own  way. 

It  was  a  "  bonny  day  ;"  mild,  bright,  and  still.  The  autura- 
(559) 


nno 


jANi-rrs  i.ovE  AND  sniivrcE. 


■■'J 


Hill  beauty  of  the  forests  had  passed,  l)ut  the  trees  wore  not 
bare,  yet,  thoujjh  October  was  nearly  over  ;  and,  now  and 
then,  a  brown  leaf  fdl  noisol(>Hsly  thron<,di  the  air,  and  the  faint 
rustle  it  made  as  it  touched  the  many  wliich  had  pjont;  l)ef(U*o 
it,  seemed  to  deepen  the  (piiet  of  the  time.  They  had  stopped 
to  rest  a  little  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  and  were  gazing  over 
the  pond  to  the  hills  beyond,  as  Mrs.  Snow  spoke. 

"  Yes,  I  mind,"  said  Graeme. 

*'  And  I  mind,  too,"  said  Rose,  softly. 

"It's  a  bonny  place,"  said  Mi*s.  Snow,  in  a  little,  "and  it 
has  changed  but  httlo  in  all  tho.se  years.  The  woods  ^ave 
gone  back  a  little  on  some  of  the  hills  ;  and  the  trees  about 
the  village  and  the  kirkyard  have  gi'own  larger  and  closer, 
and  that  is  mostly  all  the  changes." 

"  The  old  meeting-house  has  a  th-eaiy  look,  now  that  it  is 
never  used,"  said  Rose,  regi*etfulh'. 

"  Ay,  it  has  that.  I  mhid  thinking  it  a  grand  and  stately 
object,  when  I  first  saw  it  fix>m  this  side  of  the  water.  Tliat 
was  before  I  had  been  hi  it,  or  very  near  it.  But  I  learned 
to  love  it  for  better  tilings  than  statoliness,  before  veiy  long. 
I  was  ill  pleased  when  they  first  siioko  of  pulluig  it  down, 
but,  as  you  say,  it  is  a  di-eaiy  object,  now  that  it  is  no  longer 
used,  and  the  sooner  it  g(jes  the  better." 

"  Yes,  a  ruin  to  be  an  object  of  interest,  should  bo  of  grey 
stone,  with  waUflDwei-s  and  ivy  gi*o\\iug  over  it,"  said  Gnieme. 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  not  a  country  for  niins,  and  such  like 
sorrowful  things.  The  old  kirk  was  good  enough  to  woi*ship 
in,  to  my  thinking,  for  many  a  year  to  come  ;  and  the  new 
one  will  aye  lack  something  that  the  old  one  had,  to  you  and 
me,  and  many  a  one  besides  ;  but  the  sooner  the  fursakeuold 
place  is  taken  quite  away,  the  bettor,  now." 

"  Yes,  there  is  nothing  venerable  in  broken  sashes,  and 
flutteiing  sliingles.  But  I  wish  they  had  repaired  it  for  a 
while,  or  at  any  rate,  built  the  new  one  on  the  same  site.  Wo 
shall  never  have  any  pleasant  associations  with  the  new  red 
brick  aflfair  that  the  Merk^ville  people  are  so  proud  of." 

And  so  they  lingered  and  talked  about  mimy  a  thing  bo- 


JANKT8    LOVK    AND   SKIITIOR. 


5C1 


•cd 


sides  the  misightly  old  moctinf^-Louso — things  that  liad  lia;,> 
peued  in  the  old  time,  when  the  bairns  were  young,  and  the 
world  was  to  them  a  world  in  which  each  had  a  kingdom  to 
conquer,  a  crown  to  win.     Those  happy,  haj^py  days ! 

"Oh !  well,"  said  Mrs.  Snow,  as  they  ro.se  to  go  up  the  hill 
again,  "  it's  a  bonny  place,  and  I  have  learned  to  love  it  well. 
But  if  any  one  had  told  mo  in  those  days,  that  the  time 
would  come,  when  this  and  no  other  place  in  the  world  would 
seem  like  home  to  me,  it  would  have  been  a  foohslmess  in 
my  eai's." 

"  Ah !  what  a  sad  dreary  mntcr  that  first  one  was  to  you, 
Janet,  though  it  was  so  merry  to  the  boys  and  me,"  said 
Graeme.  "  It  would  have  comfoi'ted  j'ou  then,  if  you  could 
have  knovNTi  how  it  would  be  with  you  now,  and  with  Sandy." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  my  dear.  "We  are  untoward 
creatures,  at  the  best,  and  the  brightness  of  to-day,  would 
not  have  looked  like  brightness  then.  No  love,  the  changes 
that  seem  so  good  and  right  to  look  back  upon,  would  have 
dismayed  me,  could  I  have  seen  them  before  me.  It  is  well 
that  we  must  just  live  on  from  one  day  to  another,  content 
with  miat  each  one  brings." 

"  Ah  !  if  we  could  always  do  that !  "  said  Graeme,  sighing. 

"  My  bairn,  we  can.  Though  I  mind,  even  in  those  old 
happy  days,  you  had  a  soiTowful  fashion  of  adding  the  mor- 
row's burden  to  the  burden  of  to-day.  But  that  is  past  with 
you  now,  surely,  after  all  that  you  have  seen  o^  the  Lord's 
goodness,  to  you  and  yours.  "WTiat  would  you  wish  changed 
of  all  that  has  come  and  gone,  since  that  first  time  when  we 
looked  on  the  bonny  hills  and  valleys  of  MerleviUe  ?  " 

"Janet,"  said  Graeme,  speaking  low,  "  death  has  come  to 
us  since  that  day." 

"  Ay,  my  bau-ns !  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and,  sui'ely, 
that  is  to  be  gi'ievcd  for  least  of  all.  Think  of  them  all 
these  years,  among  the  hills  of  Heaven,  with  j'our  mother 
and  the  baby  she  got  home  with  her.  And  think  of  the  won- 
derful things  your  father  has  seen,  and  of  his  Jia\ing  speech 

with  David,  and  Paul,  and  with  oiu'  Lord  hmiself " 

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562 


JANETS   LOVE  AND  SEEVICE. 


Janet's  voice  faltered,  and  Graeme  clasped  softly  tho 
withered  hand  that  lay  upon  her  arm,  and  neither  of  them 
spoke  again,  till  they  answered  Sandy  and  Emily's  joyful 
greeting  at  the  door. 

Rose  lingered  beliind,  and  walked  up  and  dovra  over  the 
fallen  leaves  beneath  the  elms.  Graeme  came  down  again, 
there,  and  jNIr.  Nasmyth  came  to  speak  to  them,  and  so  did 
Emily,  but  they  did  not  stay  long  ;  and  by  and  by  Rose  was 
left  alone  with  Mr.  MiEar,  for  the  very  first  time  during  his 
visit.  Not  that  she  was  really  alone  with  him,  for  all  the 
rest  were  still  in  the  porch  enjoying  the  mild  au*,  and  the 
bright  October  sunshine.  She  could  join  them  in  a  moment, 
she  thought,  not  that  there  was  the  least  reason  in  the  world 
for  her  wisliing  to  do  so,  however.  All  this  passed  through 
her  mind,  as  she  came  over  the  fallen  leaves  toward  the  gate 
on  which  Mr.  Millar  was  leaning ;  and  then  she  saw  that  she 
could  not  so  easily  join  the  rest,  at  least,  without  asking  him 
to  let  her  pass.  But,  of  course,  there  could  be  no  occasion 
fur  that. 

"  How  clearly  we  can  see  the  shadows  in  the  wateiy  said 
she,  for  the  sake  of  saying  something.  "  Look  over  yonder, 
at  the  point  where  the  cedar  trees  grow  low.     Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  he,  but  he  was  not  looking  the  way  of 
the  cedars.     "  Rose,  do  you  know  why  I  came  here  ?  " 

Rose  gave  a  startled  glance  toward  the  porch  where  they 
were  all  sitting  so  quietly. 

"It  was  to  brmg  us  news  of  Will.,,  was  n't  it  ?  And  to  see 
Merlevillc  ?  "  said  she. 

Did  she  say  it  ?  Or  had  she  only  thought  of  it  ?  She  was 
not  sure,  a  minute  after,  for  Mr.  Millar  went  on  as  if  he  had 
heard  nothing. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife." 

Did  this  take  her  by  surprise  ?  or  had  she  been  expecting 
it  all  the  time  ?  She  did  not  know.  She  was  not  sure  ;  but 
she  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes,  without  a  word. 

"  You  know  I  have  loved  you  always — since  the  night  that 
Harry  took  me  home  with  him.     My  fancy  has  never  wan- 


JANETS    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


563 


dered  from  yon,  all  these  years.  Rose,  you  must  know  I  love 
you,  dciirly.  I  have  only  that  to  plead.  I  know  I  am  not 
worthy  of  you,  except  for  the  love  I  bear  you." 

He  had  begun  quietly,  as  one  begins  a  work  which  needs 
preparation,  and  strength,  and  courage,  but  his  last  words 
came  between  pauses,  broken  and  hiu'riedly,  and  he  repeated, 

"I  know  I  am  not  worthy." 

"  Oh !  Charlie,  don't  say  such  fooUsh  words  to  me."  And 
Rose  gave  him  a  single  glimpse  of  her  face.  It  was  only  a 
glimpse,  but  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap  in  his  breast,  and 
the  hand  that  lay  on  the  gate  which  separated  them  trembled, 
though  Rose  did  not  look  up  to  see  it. 

"Rosie,"  he  whispered,  "come  down  to  the  brook  and 
show  me  Harry's  waterfall." 

Rose  laughed,  a  little,  uncertam  laugh,  that  had  the  sound 
of  tears  in  it ;  and  when  Charlie  took  her  hand  and  put  it 
within  his  arm,  she  did  not  withdraw  it,  and  they  went  over 
the  field  together. 

Graeme  had  been  watching  them  from  the  porch,  and  as 
they  passed  out  of  sight,  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  Mrs. 
Snow,  with  a  long  breath. 

"  It  has  come  at  last,  Janet,"  said  she. 

"  I  shouldna  wonder,«dear.  But  it  is  no'  a  thing  to  grieve 
over,  if  it  has  come." 

"  No.  And  I  am  not  going  to  grieve.  I  am  glad,  even 
though  I  have  to  seek  my  fortune,  all  alone.  But  I  have  "Will., 
yet,"  added  she,  in  a  little.  "  There  is  no  word  of  a  sti'anger 
guest  in  his  heart  as  yet.     I  am  sure  of  Will.,  at  least." 

Mrs.  Snow  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

""Will's  time  will  come,  doubtless.  You  are  not  to  build 
a  castle  for  yourself  and  Will.,  unless  you  make  room  for  more 
than  just  you  two  in  it,  dear." 

Emily  hstened,  smiling. 

"  It  would  be  as  well  to  leave  the  building  of  Will.'s  castle 
to  himself,  "  said  she. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Graeme,  with  a  sigh.  "  One 
must  build  for  one's  soJf.     But,  Emily,  dear,  I  built  Rosie'a 


504 


JANETS   LOVK    AND   SKRVICE. 


castie.  I  have  wished  for  just  what  is  happening  over  yonder 
among  the  pine  trees,  for  a  long,  long  time.  I  have  been 
afraid,  now  and  then,  of  late,  that  my  castle  was  to  tumble 
down  about  my  ears,  but  Charhe  has  put  his  hand  to  the  work, 
now,  in  light  good  earnest,  and  I  think  my  castle  will  stand." 

"  See  here,  Emily,"  said  Mr  Snow,  coming  m  an  hour  or 
two  later,  "  if  Mr.  Millar  thinks  of  catching  the  cars  for  Bos- 
ton, this  evening,  you'll  have  to  hiuTy  up  your  tea." 

"  But  he  has  no  thought  of  doing  any  such  foolish  tiling," 
said  Mrs.  Snow.  "  Dear  me,  a  body  would  think  you  were 
in  haste  to  get  quit  of  the  young  man,  with  your  hmry  for 
the  tea,  and  the  cars  for  Boston." 

"  Why  no,  mother,  I  ain't.  He  spoke  about  it  this  morn- 
ing, himself,  or  I'm  pretty  sui*e  I  should  n't.  I'll  be  glad  to 
have  him  stay,  and  mora  than  glad." 

"  He  is  going  to  stay  and  hear  the  minister  preach,"  said 
Graeme.  "  You  know  you  asked  him,  and  I'm  sure  he  wiU 
enjoy  it." 

"  He  is  a  good  preacher,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  gi-avely. 

"  And  he's  a  good  practiser,  which  is  far  better,"  said  his 
wife.  "  But  I  doubt,  deacon,  you'R  need  to  put  him  out  of 
your  head  now.  Look  down  yonder,  and  tell  me  if  you  think 
Rosie  is  hkely  to  bide  in  MeiieAolle.". 

And  the  deacon,  looldng,  saw  Mr.  Millar  and  Rose  coming 
slowly  up  the  path  together,  and  a  duller  man  than  Mr.  Snow 
could  hardly  have  failed  to  see  how  matters  stood  between 
them  ;  Mr.  Millar  was  looking  down  on  the  blushing  face  of 
his  companion  with  an  air  ahke  happy  and  triumphant,  and, 
as  for  Rose,  Mr.  Snow  had  never  seen  her  look  at  all  as  she 
was  looking  at  that  moment. 

"  Well,"'  said  his  wife,  softly. 

"  Well,  it  is  as  pretty  a  sight  as  one  need  wish  to  see,"  said 
Mr.  Snow.  He  nodded  his  head  a  great  many  times,  and 
then,  without  a  word,  tinned  his  eyes  on  Graeme. 

His  wife  smUed. 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  not.  Every  one  must  build  his  own 
gastle,  as  I  heard  her  saying — or  was  it  Emily  ?  this  \ery 


JAXEt's  love  and  SEIiVICE.  565 

afternoon.  But  we  needna  trouble  ourselves  about  what  may 
hinds '  ^'''''  ""'  ''^°''*  ""^''^  '"^'■''^-  ^^  ^'  ^^^  "^  ^«°^ 
"And,  Rosio  dear,  aU  this  might  have  happened  at  Nor- 
man s  last  year,  if  only  Charlie  had  been  bolder,  and  Harrv 
not  so  wise."  "^ 

The  sisters  were  in  their  own  room  together.  A  good  deal 
had  been  said  before  this  time  that  need  not  be  repeated. 
Graeme  had  made  her  sister  understand  how  glad  she  was 
for  her  sake,  and  had  spoken  kind,  sisterly  words  about 
cnarhe,  and  how  she  would  have  chosen  him  for  a  brother 
out  of  all  the  world,  and  more  of  the  same  kind  ;  and  of 
course,  Hose  was  as  happy,  as  happy  could  be.  But  when 
Graeme  said  this,  she  tui-ned  round  with  a  very  gi-ave  face 

"I  don't  know,  Graeme.     Perhaps  it  might ;  but  I  am  not 
sure.     I  did  not  know  my  own  mind  then,  and,  on  the  whole 
it  is  better  as  it  is."  ' 

"  Hairy  will  be  glad,"  said  Graeme.     Lidced,  she  had  said 
that  before. 
Rose  laughed. 

"Dear,  wise  Harry!     He  always   said  Charlie  was  puro 
gold." 

"And  so  he  is,"  said  Graeme, 

"I  know  it,  Graeme  ;  and  he  says  he  is  not  good  enough 
for  me. "     And  Rose  laid  down  her  cheek  upon  her  sister's  lap 
with  a  little  sob.     "  All !  if  he  only  knew,  I  am  afi-aid—" 

"Dear,  it  is  the  humility  of  true  love,  as  you  said  about 
Harry.    You  love  one  another,  and  you  need  not  bo  afraid." 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time  after  that,  and  then  lloso 
said,  flushing  a  httle, 

"  And,  Graeme,  dear,  Charlie  says— but  I  promised  not  to 
tell—" 

^  "AVell,  you  must  not,  then,"  said  Graeme,  smiHng,  with 
just  a  little  throb  of  j^ain  at  her  heart,  as  it  came  homo'^to  her 
that  no^v,  Rose,  and  her  hopes  aiul  fears,  and  httle  secrets  be- 
longed more  to  another  than  to  her. 

"Not  that  it  is  a  secret,  Graeme,"  said  her  sister,  eagerly. 


1 


5GG 


JANKTS   LOVE   AND    SERVICE. 


:| 


"  It  is  something'  that  Charlie  has  very  much  at  heart,  but  I 
am  not  so  sure  myself.  But  it  is  notlimg  that  can  be  spoken 
about  yet.  Graeme.  Charlie  thinks  there  is  nobody  in  the 
world  quite  so  good  as  you." 

Graeme  laughed. 

"Excont  you,  Rosio." 

"lam  not  good,  Graeme,  buc  very  foohsli  and  naughty, 
often,  as  you  know.  But  I  will  t/y  and  be  good,  now,  indeed 
I  will." 

"  ]\[y  darling,"  murnuired  Graeme,  "I  am  so  glad  for  you 
— so  glad  and  tliankfiil.  We  ought  to  be  good.  God  has 
been  very  good  to  us  ail." 

Of  coiu'se  all  this  was  not  permitted  to  shorten  the  visit  of 
the  sisters  to  their  old  fi'iend.  Mr.  ^Millar  went  away  rather 
reluctantly,  alone,  but  the  muter  had  quite  set  in  before  they 
went  home.  Mrs.  Snow  was  well  by  that  time,  as  well  as  she 
ever  expected  to  bo  in  this  world,  and  she  bade  them  farewell 
Avith  a  good  hope  that  she  might  see  them  again. 

"But,  whether  or  not,"  said  she,  cheerfnlly,  "I  shall  aye  be 
glad  and  thankfrJ  for  the  quiet  time  we  have  had  together. 
There  are  few  who  can  say  of  those  they  love,  that  they  wish 
nothing  changed  in  their  life  or  their  lot ;  but  I  do  say  that  of 
all  your  father's  bairns.  No'  but  that  there  may  be  some 
crook  in  the  lot  of  one  or  other  of  you,  that  I  canna  see,  and 
maybe  some  that  I  can  see  ;  but  when  the  face  is  set  in  the 
right  airt  (direction)  all  winds  waft  onward,  and  that,  I  trust, 
is  true  of  you  all.  And,  Rosie,  my  dear,  it  takes  a  steady 
hand  to  carry  a  full  cup,  as  I  have  told  you,  many  a  time  ; 
and  mind,  my  bairn,  '  Except  the  Lord  build  tlu^  house,  they 
labor  in  vain  that  build  it,'  and,  '  the  foundation  of  God 
standeth  sure'  Mis3  Graema,  my  dear,  *  Tliey  that  wait  on 
the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength,'  as  you  have  learned  yom*- 
self  long  svne.     God  bless  vou  both,  and  farewell." 

They  had  a  very  quiet  and  happy  winter.  They  had  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  their  new  sister,  and  a  very  pleasant 
dutj*  it  proved.  Harry  had  at  one  time  indulged  some  msano 
hopes  of  ha^'ing  his  little  Amy  safe  in  his  own  keeping  before 


jankt's  love  and  service. 


5CT 


the  snow  camo,  but  it  was  soon  made  plain  to  him  by  ^Irs. 
Roxbnry,  that  tliis  was  not  for  a  single  moment  to  be  thought 
of.  Her  daughter  was  \eiy  young,  and  she  must  be  per- 
mitted at  least  one  season  to  see  something  of  soeiety  before 
her  marriage.  She  was  satisfied  with  the  prospeet  of  having 
the  young  merchant  for  a  son-in-law  ;  he  had  established  a  re- 
putation of  the  most  desirable  kind  among  the  reliable  men 
of  the  city,  and  he  was,  besides,  a  r/'^ntlrman,  and  she  had 
other  daughters  gi'owing  np.  Si  ill  it  was  right  that  Amy 
should  have  time  and  opportunity  to  bo  quite  siu'e  of  herself, 
before  the  ii-revoeable  step  was  taken.  If  IVIi's.  Roxbmy 
could  have  had  her  way  about  it,  she  should  have  had  this 
opportunity  before  her  engagement  had  been  made,  or,  at  least, 
before  it  had  been  openly  acknowledged,  but,  as  that  could 
not  be,  there  must  be  no  haste  about  the  wedding. 

And  so  the  pretty  Amy  was  hurried  from  one  gay  scene  to 
another,  and  was  an  acknowledged  beauty  and  belle  in  both 
civic  and  military  circles,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it  all  very 
well.  As  for  Harry,  he  sometimes  went  with  her,  and  some- 
times stayed  at  home,  and  fretted  and  chafed  at  the  state  of 
affau's  in  a  way  that  even  his  sisters  considered  unreasonable, 
though  they  by  no  means  ajoproved  of  the  trial  to  which 
Amy's  constancy  was  exposed-  Bat  they  were  not  afraid  for 
her.  Every  visit  she  made  them — and  many  quiet  mornings 
she  passed  with  them — they  became  more  assured  of  her  sweet- 
ness and  goodness,  and  of  her  affection  for  their  brother, 
and  so  they  thought  HaiTy  unreasonable  in  his  impatience, 
and  told  him  so,  sometimes. 

"  A  little  vexation  and  suspense  will  do  Harry  no  harm," 
said  Arthur.  "  Events  were  following  one  another  quite  too 
smoothly  in  his  experience.  In  he  walks  among  us  one  day, 
and  announces  his  engagement  to  Miss  Roxbury,  as  trium- 
phantly as  you  please,  without  a  word  of  warning,  and  now 
he  frets  and  fumes  because  lie  cannot  have  his  own  way  in 
every  particular.     A  little  suspouso  will  do  him  good." 

Which  was  very  hard-hearted  on  Aithur's  part,  as  his  wifo 
told  him. 


508 


JANETS   LOVE   AND   SEUVICK 


:i 


I- 


u 


% 


1% 


"  And,  besides,  it  is  not  suspense  iliiit  is  troubling  Harry," 
said  Hose.  *'  lie  knows  quite  well  how  it  is  to  end.  It  is  only 
a  momentary  vexation.  And  I  don't  say,  myself,  it  will  do 
Harry  any  harm  to  have  his  masculine  self-complacency  dis- 
turbed a  little,  by  just  the  bare  possibility  of  disajipointment. 
One  values  what  it  costs  one  some  trouble  to  have  and  to 
hold." 

"  Rose,  you  arc  as  bad  as  Arthur,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Am  I  ?  Oh !  I  do  not  mean  that  Harrv  does  n't  value 
httle  iVmy  enough  ;  but  he  is  unreasonable  and  foohsh,  and 
it  looks  as  if  ho  were  afi-aid  to  trust  her  among  all  those  fine 
people  who  admire  her  so  much." 

"It  is  you  who  are  foolish,  now,  Rose,"  said  her  sister. 
"  Harry  may  be  unreasonable,  but  it  is  not  on  tliat  account ; 
and  Amy  is  a  jewel  too  precious  not  to  be  guarded.  No 
wonder  that  he  grudges  so  much  of  her  time,  and  so  many  of 
her  thoughts  to  indifferent  people.  But  it  will  soon  be  over 
now." 

"  Who  knows  ?  '  There's  many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and 
the  lip,'  you  know,"  said  Arthur.  "  Who  knows  but  Harry 
may  be  the  victim  among  us  ?  Our  matrimonial  adventures 
have  been  monotonously  prosperous,  hitherto.  Witness 
Rosie's  success.  It  would  make  a  little  variety  to  have  an  in- 
terruption." 

But  Han-y  was  not  destined  to  be  a  victim.  As  the  winter 
wore  over,  Mrs.  Roxbui'y  relented,  and  "  hstened  to  reason 
on  the  subject,"  Hany  said ;  and  by  and  by  there  begun  to  be 
signs  of  more  than  usual  occupation  in  the  Roxbury  mansion, 
and  preparations  that  were  likely  to  throw  Rosie's  modest  ef- 
forts in  the  direction  of  housekeeping  altogether  in  the  shade. 
But  Rosie  was  not  of  an  envious  disposition,  and  enjoyed  her 
pretty  tilings  none  the  less,  because  of  the  magnificence  of 
Harry's  bride.  As  for  little  Amv,  she  took  the  matter  of  the 
trousseau  very  coolly.  Mamma  was  quite  equal  to  all  that, 
and  took  trouble  enough,  and  enjoyment  enough  out  of  it 
all  for  both,  and  she  was  sure  that  ail  would  be  done  in  a 
right  and  proper  manner,  without  anxiety  or  over-exeiiion 


,  I 


JANET  ri    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


509 


on  Vcv  part,  find  there  was  never  a  happier  or  more  light 
henrted  Uttlo  bride  tliau  sh(\ 

At  fu'st  it  was  proposed  that  the  two  weddinj^s  shoiihl  take 
place  on  the  same  day,  but,  afterwards,  it  was  decided  other- 
wise. It  wonld  be  uiconvenieut  fur  business  reasons,  should 
both  the  paitners  bo  away  at  tlu;  same  time,  and  in  those  cu'cum- 
stances  the  wedding  tiip  would  l^e  shortened.  And  besides,  the 
magnificence  of  the  Roxbuiy  plans,  would  involve  more  ti-oublo 
as  to  prejoarations,  than  would  be  agi'ceable  or  convenient ; 
and  Rose  proposed  to  go  quietly  from  her  ov.n  home  to  the 
home  Charlie  was  maldng  ready  for  her  ;  and  it  was  decided 
that  Harry's  maninge  should  take  pLice  in  the  latter  part  of 
April,  and  the  other  early  in  the  summer. 

But  before  Apiil,  bad  news  came  from  "Will.  They  heard 
from  himself  first,  that  he  had  not  been  sometimes  as  well  as 
usual,  an/I  then  a  letter  came  fi-om  Air.  Ruthvcn  to  Ciraemo, 
telUng  her  that  her  brother  was  ill  with  fever,  quite  unable 
to  write  himself ;  and  though  he  did  not  say  in  so  many 
words,  that  there  was  danger  for  him,  this  was  only  too . 
easily  inferred  from  his  maimer  of  writing. 

The  next  letter,  and  the  next,  brought  no  better  ne^vs.  It 
was  a  time  of  great  anxiety.  To  Graeme  it  was  worst  of  all. 
As  the  days  went  on,  and  nothing  more  hoi^efiil  came  from 
him,  she  blamed  herself  that  she  had  not  at  once  gone  to  liim 
when  the  tidings  of  his  iUuess  fii'st  reached  them.  It  was 
terrible  to  think  of  him,  dyuig  alone  so  fai*  from  them  all  ; 
and  she  said  to  herself  "  she  might,  at  least,  have  been  with 
Imn  at  the  last." 

He  would  have  been  at  home  by  this  time,  if  ho  had  been 
well,  and  this  made  their  grief  and  anxiety  all  the  harder  to 
bear.  If  she  could  have  done  anything  for  him,  or  if  she  could 
have  known  from  day  to  day  how  it  was  with  him,  even 
though  she  could  not  see  him,  or  care  for  him,  it  would  not 
have  been  so  di'cadful,  (Iraeme  thought.  Her  heart  failed  her, 
and  though  she  tried  to  interest  herself  still  in  the  prepara- 
tions and  arrangements  that  had  before  given  her  so  much 
pleasure,  it  was  all  that  she  could  do,  to   go  (piietly  ajid 


570 


JANKTS    L(»Vi:    AND    SERVICi:. 


calnily  about  her  duties,  Jiu'lng  some  of  these  very  anxious 
(lays. 

She  dill  not  Imow  how  utterly  despondent  she  was  becom- 
ing, or  how  gi'eatly  in  danger  she  was  of  forgetting  for  the 
time  the  lessons  of  hope  and  trust  which  her  experience  in 
life  had  taught  he?'  till  there  came  from  Mrs.  Snow  one  of  her 
rare,  brief  letters,  wiitten  by  her  own  hand,  Avhich  only  times 
of  gi'eat  trial  had  ever  called  foiih  from  her. 

"  jNIy  bairn,"  she  said,  "  are  you  not  among  those  whom 
nothing  can  harm?  Ahiiohitdy  nolhimj !  WTiether  it  bo  life 
or  death  that  is  before  your  brother,  you  have  sm'ely  nothing 
to  fear  for  him,  and  nothing  for  yourself.  I  think  he  will  bo 
spared  to  do  God's  work  for  a  while  yet.  But  dear,  after  all 
that  has  come  and  gone,  neither  you  nor  I  would  like  to  take 
it  upon  ourselves  to  say  what  would  be  wise  and  kind  on  our 
Fatlier's  part ;  and  whtit  is  wise  and  kind  will  surely  come  to 
pass." 

Their  suspense  did  not  last  very  long  after  this.  IMi*.  Ruth- 
ven's  weekly  letters  became  more  hopeful  after  the  third  one, 
and  soon  Will,  wrote  himself,  a  few  feeble,  irregular  lines,  tell- 
ing how  his  fiiend  had  watched  over  him,  and  cared  for  him 
like  a  brother,  dming  all  those  weeks  in  his  dreary,  city  lodg- 
ing ;  and  how,  at  the  first  possible  moment,  he  had  taken  him 
home  to  his  own  house,  where  Mrs.  Millar,  his  mother,  was 
caring  for  him  now  ;  and  where  he  was  slowly,  but  sm'ely, 
coming  back  to  life  and  health  again.  There  was  no  hope 
of  his  being  able  to  be  home  to  Harry's  marriage,  but  unless 
something  should  happen  to  pull  him  sadly  back  again,  ho 
hoped  to  see  the  last  of  Rosie  Elliott,  and  the  fii'st  of  his  new 
brother  Charlie. 

There  were  a  few  words  meant  for  Graeme  alone,  over 
which  she  shed  happj',  thankful  tears,  and  wrote  tlieiu  down 
for  the  reading  of  their  old  friend,  "  Brought  face  to  face  with 
death,  one  learns  the  true  meaning  and  value  of  hfe.  I  am 
glad  to  come  back  agam,  for  yom-  sake  Graeme,  and  for  the 
bake  of  the  work  that  I  trust  I  may  be  permitted  to  do." 

After  this  they  looked  forward  to  the  wedding  with  lightened 


.lANET  S    LOVE    AND   SEUVICK. 


571 


anxious 


hearts.  It  way,  a  very  {^'and  anil  successful  affair,  aUoj^'cther. 
Amy  and  her  bridcs-niakls  were  worthy  of  all  the  adinmition 
which  they  excited,  and  that  is  sayin<^  a  great  deal.  There 
were  many  invited  guests,  and  somehow,  it  had  got  about 
that  this  was  to  be  a  more  than  usually  pretty  wedding,  and 
St.  Andi'cw's  was  crowded  with  lookers-on,  who  had  only  the 
right  of  kind  and  admiring  sj'mpathy  to  plead  for  being  there. 
The  brealcfast  was  all  that  it  ought  to  be,  of  course,  and  the 
bride's  travelHng-drcss  was  pronounced  by  all  to  be  as  great 
a  marvel  of  taste  and  skill,  as  the  bridal  robe  itself. 

Harry  behaved  very  well  through  it  all,  as  Ai-thur  amused 
them  not  a  httle  by  gi'avel}'  asserting.  But  HaiTy  was,  as  an 
object  of  interest,  a  very  secondary  person  on  the  occasion,  as 
it  is  the  usual  fate  of  bridegrooms  to  bo.  As  for  the  bride,  she 
was  as  sweet  and  gentle,  and  unaffected,  amid  the  guests,  and 
grandeur,  and  glittering  wedding  gifts,  as  she  had  always 
been  in  the  eyes  of  her  new  sisters,  and  when  Graeme  kissed 
her  for  good  bye,  she  said  to  herself,  that  this  dear  httle  sis- 
ter had  come  to  them  without  a  single  drawback,  and  she 
thanked  God  in  her  heart,  for  the  happiness  of  her  brother 
Harry.  Yes,  and  for  the  happiness  of  her  brother  Arthur, 
too,  she  added  in  her  heart,  and  she  greatly  suqirised  Famiy 
by  putting  her  arms  round  her  and  kissing  her  softly  many 
times.  They  were  in  one  of  the  bay  windows  of  the  great 
drawing-room,  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  company  geaerally, 
so  that  they  were  unobserved  by  all  but  Arthur. 

"  Graeme's  heart  is  overflowuig  with  peace  and  good  will 
to  all  on  this  auspicious  occasion,"  said  he,  laughing,  but  ho 
•was  greatly  pleased. 

After  this  they  had  a  few  happy  weeks.  Eosie's  preparations 
were  by  this  time,  too  far  advanced  to  give  any  cause  for  anxi- 
ety or  care,  and  they  all  enjoyed  the  quiet.  Letters  came  weeldy 
from  "Will.,  or  his  friend,  sometimes  from  both,  which  set  them 
quite  at  rest  about  the  invalid.  They  were  no  longer  mere 
reports  of  his  health,  but  long,  merry,  rambling  letters,  filled 
with  accounts  of  their  daily  life,  bits  of  gossip,  conversation, 
even  jokes  at  one  another's  expense,  generally  given  by  Will, 


IT 


r.72 


JANKTH    T.OVK    AM)   SKUVIcn. 


but  sometimes,  also,  by  tlic  p^r.ivc  and  (li'jtiiitkul  ^Ir.  Riithvon, 
Avhorii,  till  liiti'ly,  (ill  but  Cluirlic  had  como  to  consiilii'  iiluiost 
a  stran<^'or.  Still  the  end  of  May  was  come,  and  nothing  was 
said  aa  to  the  day  when  they  expected  to  «L't  sail. 

But  before  that  time,  ^reat  news  had  coiae  from  another 
quarter.  Norman  and  his  family  were  comin^i^  East.  A 
succession  of  childish  illnesses  had  visited  his  little  ones,  and 
had  left  both  mother  and  children  iu  need  of  more  bracing 
air  than  their  homo  could  boast  of  in  the  summer  time,  and 
th("y  were  all  coming  to  take  uj)  their  abode  for  a  month  or 
two,  on  the  (iulf,  up  which  hoalth-bearuig  breezes  from  the 
ocean  uovor  cease  to  blow.  Graomo  was  to  go  with  them. 
As  many  more  as  could  be  persuaded  were  to  go,  too,  but 
Graeme  certainly  ;  and  then  she  was  to  go  home  with  them, 
to  the  West,  when  their  sumnier  hoUda}'  should  Ijg  over. 

This  was  Norman's  view  of  the  matter.  Graeme's  plans 
were  not  sufficiently  aiTanged  as  yet  for  her  to  say  either  yes 
or  no,  with  regard  to  'it.  Li  the  meantime,  there  were  many 
preparations  to  bo  made  for  their  coming,  and  Grucmo  wrote 
to  hasten  these  oa'rangements,  so  that  they  might  bo  in  time 
for  the  wedduig. 

"  And  if  only  Will,  comes,  we  shall  all  be  together  again 
once  more,"  said  she,  with  a  long  breath. 

"To  say  nothing  of  Norman's  boys,  and  his  wonderful 
daughter,  and  Fanny's  young  gentleman,  who  will  compare 
with  any  of  them  now,  I  think,  "  said  Rose. 

"  We  will  have  a  house  full  and  a  merry  wedding,"  said 
Arthur.  "Though  it  won't  b>  as  grand  as  the  other  one, 
Eosie,  I'm  afi'aid.  If  wo  only  could  have  Mrs.  Snow  here, 
Graeme  ?" 

Graeme  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  afi^-aid  that  can  hardly  be  in  the  present  state  of  her 
health.  Not  that  she  is  ill,  but  ]Mr.  Snow  thinks  the  jour- 
ney would  be  too  much  for  her.  I  am  afi'aid  it  is  not  to  be 
thought  of?" 

"  Never  mind — Charlie  and  Rosie  can  go  round  that  way 
and  get  her  blessing.     That  will  be  the  next  best  thing  to 


;iij ' 


JAXin  S    LOVK   AND   KKUVK  K. 


573 


haniiff  her  hfi'o.    And  bv  the  time  -von  nro  roiidv  for  the  iiltar, 
Graeme,  Janet  Avill  coino,  yon  may  bo  sure  of  that." 

Juno  had  como,  Avarm  and  boantifiil.  Harry  and  his  In-ido 
had  returned,  and  the  important  Init  exhaustin;:!;  corenKmy  of 
receiving  bridal  vif^its  was  nearly  over.  Graeme,  at  Ic  ast,  had 
found  them  rather  exhausting,  uhcn  she  had  taken  her  tnni 
of  sitting  'with  the  bride  ;  and  so,  on  one  occasion,  leaving 
Rose  and  some  other  gay  young  people  to  pass  the  evening 
at  Harrv'a  house,  she  set  out  on  her  way  home,  with  the  fe(>l- 
ing  of  relief  that  all  was  over  in  which  she  was  expected  to 
assist,  uppermost  in  her  mind.  It  would  all  have  to  be  gono 
over  again  in  Kosie's  case,  she  laiew,  I'l^t  she  put  that  out  of 
her  mind  for  the  present,  and  turned  It  thoughts  to  tlio 
pleasant  things  that  were  sure  to  happen  before  that  time — 
Norman's  coming,  and  AVill.'s.  '^I'l  oy  might  ci/iac  any  day 
now.  She  had  indulgeil  in  a  little  impatiiiit  miu'muring  that 
V>  ill's  last  letter  had  not  named  the  day  a-nd  the  steamer  by 
which  he  was  to  sail,  but  it  could  nnt  be  long  now  at  the 
longest,  and  her  heart  gave  a  sudden  tluob  as  she  thought 
that  possibly  ho  might  not  write  as  to  the  day,  but  might 
mean  to  take  them  by  surprise.  She  quickened  her  footsteps 
unconsciously  as  the  thought  came  into  her  mind  ;  he  uiight 
have  arrived  already.  But  in  a  miimte  she  hiughed  at  her 
foolishness  and  impatience,  and  then  she  sighed. 

"  There  will  be  no  more  letters  after  "Will,  fcomes  homo,  at 
least  there  will  be  none  for  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  but  added, 
impatiently,  "What  would  I  have?  Sui'ely  that  will  l)o  a 
small  matter  when  I  have  him  safe  and  well  at  home  again." 

But  she  was  a  httle  startled  at  the  pain  which  the  thought 
had  given  iier  ;  and  then  she  denied  to  herself  that  the  j^ain 
had  b^en  there.  She  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  was  a  little 
scornful  over  it,  and  then  she  took  herself  to  task  for  the 
scorn  as  she  had  done  for  the  pain.  And  then,  frightened  at 
herself  and  her  discomfort,  she  turned  her  thoughts,  with  an 
effort,  to  a  pleasanter  theme — the  coming  of  Norman  and 
Hilda  and  their  boys. 

"  I  hope  they  will  be  in  tune.     It  would  be  quite  too  bad 


:.l(:'  1 


' 


■■■  s 


; 

HI^hIv' V 

i 

ii^^Brw' 

A 

lflHKf#B 

■  t 

» 

mkm 

ilH^t 

! 

674 


JANET  S   LOVE   AND   8EKVICE. 


if  they  were  to  lose  the  wedding  by  only  a  day  or  two.  And 
yet  we  conld  hardly  blame  Charlie  were  he  to  refuse  to  wait 
after  V.  ill.  comes.  Oh,  if  he  were  only  safe  here  !  I  should 
like  a  few  quiet  days  with  Will,  before  the  house  is  full.  My 
boy ! — who  is  really  more  mine  than  any  of  the  others — all 
that  I  have  for  my  very  own,  now  that  Rosie  is  going  from 
me.  How  happy  we  shall  be  when  all  the  bustle  and  confu- 
sion are  over !  And  as  to  my  going  home  with  Norman  and 
Hilda — that  must  be  decided  later,  as  Will,  shall  make  his 
plans.     ]My  boy ! — how  can  I  ever  wait  for  his  coming  ?" 

It  was  growing  dark  as  she  di*ew  near  the  house.  Although 
the  lights  were  not  yet  in  the  di"awing-room,  she  knew  by  the 
sound  of  voices  coming  through  the  open  window  that  Arthur 
and  Fanny  were  not  alone. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  cross  to-night,  but  I  really  don't  feel  as 
though  I  could  make  myself  agreeable  to  visitors  for  another 
hour  or  two.  I  wish  Sarah  may  let  me  quietly  in,  and  I  will 
go  up-stau's  at  once.     I  wonder  who  they  are !" 

Sarah's  face  was  illuminated. 

"You  have  come  at  last,  Miss  Elliott,"  said  she. 

"  Yes  ;  was  I  expected  sooner  ?  Who  is  here  ?  Is  it  you, 
Charlie '?     You  are  expected  elsewhere." 

It  was  not  Charlie,  however.  A  voice  not  unlike  his  spoke 
in  answer,  and  said, 

"  Graeme,  I  have  brought  your  brother  home  to  you  ;"  and 
her  hand  was  clasped  in  that  of  Allan  Ruthven. 


M 


>.    And 

to  waii; 
;  should 
U.  My 
crs — all 
ug  from 
d  conf  11- 
aan  and 
lake  his 

Jlhough 
,v  by  tho 
t  Arthur 

't  feel  as 

another 

lid  I  will 


'.B  it  you. 


IS 


spoke 


u 


and 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE  pleasant  autumn  days  had  come  round  again,  and 
IVIr.  and  jNIi-s.  Snow  were  sitting,  as  tlio}'  often  sat,  now, 
alone  in  the  south  room  together.  INIr.  Snow  was  hale  and 
strong  still,  but  he  was  growing  old,  and  needed  to  rest,  and 
partly  because  the  affairs  of  the  farm  were  safe  in  tho  hands 
of  his  "  son,"  as  he  never  failed  to  designate  Sandy,  and 
partly  because  those  afiah'S  were  less  to  him  than  they  used 
to  be,  he  was  able  to  enjoy  the  rest  he  took. 

For  that  was  happenuig  to  him  which  does  not  always 
happen,  even  to  good  people,  as  they  grow  old,  his  liold  was 
loosening  from  the  things  which  for  more  than  half  a,  lifetime 
he  had  sought  so  eagerly  and  held  so  firmly.  With  his  cjos 
fixed  on  "  the  things  which  are  before,"  other  things  were 
falling  behind  and  out  of  sight,  and  fi'om  the  leisure  thus  fall- 
ing to  him  in  these  days,  came  the  quiet  hours  m  the  south 
room  so  pleasant  to  them  both. 

But  the  deacon's  face  did  not  wear  its  usual  placid  look  on 
this  particular  moniing  ;  and  the  doubt  and  anxiety  showed 
0,11  tho  more  plainly,  contrasting  as  they  chd  with  the  bright- 
ness on  the  face  of  his  wife.  She  was  moved,  too,  but  with 
no  painful  feeling,  her  husband  could  see,  as  he  watched  her, 
though  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  that  rested  on  the  scene 
witliout.  But  she  was  seeing  other  things,  ho  knew,  and  not 
son'owful  things  either,  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  little  sur- 
prise, as  he  fingered  uneasily  an  open  letter  that  lay  on  the 
table  beside  liim. 

"It  ain't  hard  to  see  how  all  that  will  end,"  said  he,  in  a 
little. 

"But,"  said  his  wife,  turning  toward  him  with  a  smile,  "you 
Bay  it  as  if  it  wore  an  ending  not  to  be  desired." 

(575) 


■■■liHil 


h  <.i 


!> 


576 


JANKT  8    LOVE   AND   SKRVICE. 


"  All,  well  I — in  a  frcncral  way,  I  suppose  it  is,  or  most  folks 
would  say  so.     "What  do  you  think  ?" 

"If  tJin/  are  pleased,  we  nccdna  be  otherwise." 

"  Well ! — no — but  ain't  it  a  little  sudden  ?  It  don't  seem 
but  tlic  other  day  since  Mr.  Ruthven  crossed  the  ocean!" 

"  But  that  wasna  the  first  time  ho  crossed  the  ocean.  The 
first  time,  they  crossed  it  together.  AUan  Ruthven  is  an  old 
friend,  and  Miss  Graeme  is  no'  the  one  to  give  her  faith  lightly 
to  any  man." 

"  Well !  no,  she  ain't.  But,  somehow,  I  had  come  to  think 
that  she  never  would  change  her  state  ;  and — " 

"  It 's  no'  vciy  long,  then,"  said  his  wife,  laughing.  "  You'll 
mind  that  it 's  no'  long  smce  you  thought  the  minister  likely 
to  persuade  her  to  it." 

"  And  docs  it  please  you  that  Mr.  Ruthven  has  had  better 
hick?" 

"  The  minister  never  could  have  persuaded  her.  He  never 
tiicd  very  much,  I  think.  And  if  Allan  Ruthven  has  per- 
suaded her,  it  is  because  she  cares  for  him  as  she  never  cared 
for  .any  other  man.  And  from  all  that  ^^'^iU.  says,  we  may 
believe  that  he  is  a  good  man,  and  true,  and  I  am  glad  for 
her  sake,  glad  and  thankful.     God  bless  her." 

"  Why,  yes,  if  she  must  many,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  discon- 
tentedly ;"  but  somehow  it  don't  seem  as  though  she  could 
fit  in  anywhere  better  than  just  the  spot  she  is  in  now.  I 
know  it  don't  sound  well  to  talk  about  old  maids,  because  of 
the  foolish  notions  folks  have  got  to  have  ;  but  Graeme  did 
seem  one  that  would  '  adorn  the  doctrine '  as  an  old  maid, 
and  redeem  the  name." 

"  That  has  been  done  by  many  a  one  already,  in  your  sight 
and  mine  ;  and  Miss  Graeme  will  '  adorn  the  doctrine '  any- 
Avhcre.  She  has  aye  had  a  useful  life,  and  this  while  she  has 
had  a  happy  one.  But  oh,  man !"  added  jMi's.  Snow,  growing 
earnest  and  Scotch,  as  old  memories  came  over  her  with  a 
sudden  nrsh,  "  when  I  mind  the  life  her  father  and  her  mother 
lived  tog(;tlu'r — a  life  of  very  nearly  perfect  blessedness — I 
canna  but  be  glad  that  Miss  Graeme  is  to  have  a  chance  of 


.•if 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


677 


3st  folks 


ii't  seem 
an!" 
m.    The 
is  an  old 
;li  liglitly 

to  think 

"  You'll 
ter  likely 

ad  better 

He  never 
has  i^er- 

ver  cared 
we  may 
glad  for 

,  discon- 
3he  could 
now.  I 
icause  of 
iacme  did 
Wd  maid, 

lorn*  sight 
pic '  any- 
she  has 
I  growing 
tir  Vvith  a 
mother 
tliiess — ^I 
Lance  of 


the  higher  happiness  that  comes  with  a  home  of  one's  own, 
where  true  love  bides  and  rules.  I  aye  mind  her  father  and 
her  mother.  They  had  their  troubles.  They  were  whiles 
poor  enough,  and  whiles  had  thraward  folk  to  deal  with  ;  but 
trouble  never  seemed  to  trouble  them  when  they  bore  it  to- 
gether. And  God's  blessing  was  upon  them  through  all.  But 
I  have  told  you  all  this  many  a  time  before,  only  it  seems  to 
come  fresh  and  new  to  me  to-day,  thinking,  as  I  am,  of  Miss 
Graeme." 

Yes,  Mr.  Snow  had  heard  it  all  many  a  time,  and  doubtless 
would  hear  it  many  a  time  again,  but  he  only  smiled,  and 
said, 

"  And  Graeme  is  like  her  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  she 's  like  her,  and  she 's  not  like  her.  She  is  qui- 
eter and  no'  so  cheery,  and  she  is  no'  near  so  bonny  as  her 
mother  was.  Rose  is  more  hke  her  mother  in  looks,  but  she 
doesna  'mind  me  of  her  mother  in  her  ways  as  her  sister  does, 
because,  I  suppose,  of  the  difference  that  the  age  and  the 
country  make  on  all  that  are  brought  up  in  them.  There  is 
something  wanting  in  all  the  young  people  of  the  present  day, 
that  well  brought  up  baims  used  to  have  in  mine.  Miss 
Graeme  has  it,  and  her  sister  hasna.  You'll  ken  what  I 
mean  by  the  diflference  between  them." 

Mr.  Snow  could  not.  The  difference  that  he  saw  between 
the  sisters  was  sufficiently  accounted  for  to  him  by  the  ton 
year's  difference  in  their  ages.  He  never  coiild  be  persuaded, 
that,  in  any  undesirable  sense,  Rose  was  more  URe  the  modem 
young  lady  than  her  sister.  Graeme  was  perfect,  in  his 
wife's  eyes,  and  Rose  was  not  quite  perfect.  That  was  alL 
However,  he  did  not  wish  to  discuss  the  question  just  now. 

"  Well  I  Graeme  is  about  as  good  as  we  can  hope  to  see 
in  this  world,  and  if  he 's  good  enough  for  her  that  is  a  great 
deal  to  say,  even  if  ho  is  not  >vhat  her  father  was." 

"  There  are  few  like  him.    But  Allan  is  a  good  man.  Will. 
Bays,  and  he  is  not  one  to  be  content  with  a  false  standard  of 
goodness,  or  a  low  one.     Ho  was  a  manly,  pleasant  lad,  in 
the  days  when  I  kenned  him.     I  daresay  his  long  warstle 
25 


578 


JANET  S    LOVE    AND    SERVICE. 


m ' 


?i       ! 


with  the  world  didna  leave  him  altogether  scatheless ;  but 
he 's  out  of  the  world's  grip  now,  I  believe.  God  bless  my 
bairn,  and  the  man  of  her  choice." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  IVIrs.  Snow  tui'ued  to  the 
window,  and  her  husband  sat  watching  her,  his  brow  a  little 
clearer,  but  not  quite  clear  yet. 

"  She  is  pleased.  She  ain't  making  believe  a  mite.  She 's 
Hke  most  women  folks  in  that"  said  Mr.  Snow,  emphasizing 
to  himself  the  word,  as  though,  in  a  good  many  things,  she 
c'iflfered  from  "women  folk"  in  general.  "They  really  do 
think  in  their  heai'ts,  though  they  don'i  always  say  so,  that  it 
is  the  right  thing  for  girls  to  get  married,  and  she  *s  glad 
Graeme's  going  to  do  so  well.  But,  when  she  comes  to 
think  of  it,  and  how  few  chances  there  are  of  her  ever  seeing 
much  of  her  again,  I  am  afraid  she  'U  worry  about  it — though 
she  sartain  don't  look  hke  it  now." 

Certainly  she  did  not  The  grave  face  looked  more  than 
peaceful,  it  looked  bright.  The  news  which  both  Rose  and 
Will,  had  intunated,  rather  than  announced,  had  stirred  only 
pleasant  thoughts  as  yet,  that  was. clear.  Mr.  Snow  put  on 
his  spectacles  and  looked  at  the  letters  again,  then  putting 
them  down,  said,  gravely, 

"  She  'U  have  her  home  a  great  way  off  from  here.  And 
maybe  it 's  foolish,  but  it  does  seem  to  me  as  though  it  was 
a  kind  of  a  come  down  to  go  back  to  the  old  country  to  hve 
after  all  these  years." 

Mi-s.  Snow  laughed  heai'tily. 

"  But  then,  it  is  no'  to  be  supposed  that  she  will  think  so, 
or  he  either,  you  ken." 

"  No,  it  ain't.    If  they  did,  they  'd  stay  here,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  it 's  no'  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibiUty  but  they 
may  bide  here  or  come  back  again.  But,  whether  they  bide 
here  or  bide  there,  God  bless  them  both,"  said  Mrs.  Snow, 
with  moistening  eyes. 

"God  bless  them  both!"  echoed  hei*  husband.  "And, 
which  ever  way  it  is,  you  ain  't  going  to  worry  the  least  mite 
about  it.    Be  you  ?  " 


JANET'S   LOVE   AND  SERVICE. 


679 


}8 ;  but 
ess  my 

to  the 
a  little 

She's 
iiasizing 
Qgs,  she 
eally  do 
),  that  it 
j's  glad 
omes  to 
jr  seeing 
-though 

ore  than 

lose  and 

pred  only 

put  on 

putting 

e.  And 
h  it  was 
y  to  Uve 


liiuk  so, 

pose." 
fat  they 
jrbide 
L  Snow, 


"And, 
ist  mite 


The  question  was  asked  after  a  pause  of  several  seconds, 
and  Mr.  Snow  looked  so  wistfully  and  entreatingly  into  his 
■wife's  face,  that  she  could  not  help  laughing,  though  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  No,  I  am  no  thinking  of  worrying,  as  you  call  it.  It  is 
borne  in  upon  me  that  this  change  is  to  be  for  the  real  happi- 
ness of  my  bairn,  and  it  would  be  pitiful  in  me  to  grudge 
her  a  day  of  ii  And,  to  teU  you  the  truth,  I  have  seen  it 
coming,  and  have  been  preparing  myself  for  it  this  while 
back,  and  so  I  have  taken  it  more  reasonably  than  you  have 
done  yourself,  which  is  a  thing  that  wasna  to  be  expected,  I 
must  confess." 

"  Seen  it  coming !  Preparing  for  it !  "  repeated  Mr. 
Snow  ;  but  he  inquired  no  farther,  only  looked  meditatively 
out  of  the  window,  and  nodded  his  head  a  great  many  times. 
By  and  by  lie  said,  heartily, 

"  Well,  if  you  are  pleased,  I  am.     God  bless  them." 

"  God  bless  all  the  bairns,"  said  his  wife,  softly.  "  Oh,  man ! 
when  I  think  of  all  that  has  come  and  gone,  I  am  ready  to 
say  that '  the  Lord  has  given  me  the  desire  of  my  heart.'  I 
sought  His  guidance  about  coming  with  them.  I  had 
a  sore  swither  ere  I  could  think  of  leaving  my  mother 
and  Sandy  for  their  sakes,  but  He  guided  me  and  strengthened 
me,  though  wlules  I  used  to  doubt  afterwards,  with  my  sore 
heart  wearying  for  my  own  land,  and  my  own  kin." 

Mr.  Snow  nodded  gravely,  but  did  not  speak,  and  in  a 
little  she  went  on  again  : 

"  I  sought  guidance,  too,  when  I  left  them,  and  now,  looking 
back,  I  think  I  see  that  I  got  it ;  but,  for  a  while,  when 
death  came,  and  they  went  from  me,  it  seemed  as  though 
the  Lord  had  removed  the  desire  of  my  eyes  with  a  stroke, 
because  of  my  self-seeking  and  unfaithfulness.  Oh,  man ! 
j'on  was  a  rough  bit  of  road  for  my  stumbling,  weary  feet. 
But  He  didna  let  me  fall  altogether  —  praise  be  to  His 
name  I " 

Her  voice  shook,  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence,  and 
then  she  added. 


< 


I  I 


i 


580 


JANET  S    LOVE   AND   SERVICE. 


"But,  as  for  grieving,  because  Miss  Graeme  is  going 
farther  away,  than  is  perhaps  pleasant  to  think  about,  when 
she  is  going  of  her  own  fi'ee  will,  and  with  a  good  hope  of  a 
measure  of  happiness,  that  would  be  unreasonable  indeed." 

"  Now,  if  she  were  to  hold  up  her  hands,  and  say,  '  Now, 
lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace,'  it  would  seem  about 
the  right  thing  to  do,"  said  ]VIr.  Snow,  to  himself,  with  a 
sigh.  "  When  it  comes  to  giving  the  bairns  up,  willing  never 
to  see  them  again,  it  looks  a  httle  as  if  she  was  done  with 
most  things,  and  ready  to  go — and  I  ain't  no  ways  ready  to 
have  her,  I  'm  afraid." 

The  next  words  gave  him  a  little  start  of  smprise  and 
reUef. 

"  And  we  Tl  need  to  bethink  om'selves,  what  bonny  thing 
we  can  give  her,  to  keep  her  in  mind  of  us  when  she  wiU  be 
far  away." 

"Sartain !  "  said  Mr.  Snow,  eagerly. 

"Not  that  I  think  she'll  be  Ukely  to  forget  us,"  added 
his  wife,  "snth  a  catch  in  her  breath.  "  She 's  no  of  that 
nature.  I  shouldna  wonder  if  she  might  have  some  home- 
sick thoughts,  then,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  happiness,  for 
she  has  a  tender  heart.  But,  if  they  love  one  another, 
there  is  little  doubt  but  it  will  be  well  with  them,  seeing 
they  have  the  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes.  And,  she 
may  come  back  and  end  her  days  on  this  side  of  the  sea, 
yet,  who  knows  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  a  mite,"  said  Mr.  Snow. 

"But,  whether  or  not,  if  she  be  well,  and  happy,  and 
good,  that  is  the  main  thing.  And  whiles  I  think  it  suits 
my  weakness  and  my  old  age  better  to  sit  here  and  hear 
about  the  baii'ns,  and  think  about  them,  and  speak  to  you 
about  them  and  all  that  concerns  them,  than  it  would  to 
be  among  them  with  their  youth  and  strength,  and  their 
new  interests  in  life.  And  then,  they  dinna  need  me,  and 
you  do,"  added  Mrs.  Snow,  with  a  smile. 

"  That 's  so,"  said  he,  with  an  emphasis  that  made  her 
laugh. 


Ig 


JAnet'8  love  and  service.  581 

have  traveUed,  somotimes  tosether  ^mJZ^        .f    ° 
al'fZl      .  "^  "°°''  *"•'  '"»■  ''ood  the  Angel  of 

S  Jr,        T  u  ^°™^  "•"*  ^-^  ^'^^  »«  tnn>ed  in  the 
ooubt  but  that  He  w  gmdmg  them  stUl,  and  us  as  weU  and 

She  paused  a  moment,  because  of  a  Kttle  bmk  and  quiver 
m  her  voico,  and  tien  she  added,  ' 

for'theL™?'  p"*^  '?"'  ^'"° '"''  "-^  •J*™"  of  -"y  heart ' 
lor  the  bauTOi.    R-aise  be  to  His  name." 


